Russian Roulette
by Feyren
Summary: A murder at a reunion is all it takes for Oshitari Yuushi to realize nothing, not even Mukahi Gakuto, is ever as it seems. OshiGaku
1. Threat

Thanks, Shibataea, for helping me with this; it would have been so incredibly awkward if you haven't.

* * *

The annoying jingle of the computer game sounded again, and the screen proudly proclaimed, "You Win!" While Oshitari Yuushi knew that playing computer games on the job was extremely looked down upon, it wasn't as though there was anything better to do.

_It would seem that it's true, what they say about policemen, _he thought wryly, putting down his glasses and wiping them with a small, red cloth. _All they do is sit around and eat donuts._

Being a policeman wasn't at all what he expected he'd do. As a middle schooler, he'd always assumed he'd be a doctor, or a scholar of some sort. As a high schooler, he studied music. In college, however, he began to study law and business—both were random decisions, simply because he'd gotten bored with school.

He'd gotten bored with a lot of things.

For one thing, the tennis team had separated. Oshitari knew it was inevitable; they were children when they met. They were adults when they separated, and so it was to be expected. The group had grown distant in their high school years. Then Shishido dropped out of the club, and Ootori abruptly followed. Jiroh's family moved to another part of Japan (Oshitari believed it was Kanagawa), and that was another regular gone.

By then, the regulars barely kept in touch anymore. Atobe left for England to go to Oxford, and of course, Kabaji followed him. Hiyoshi, Gakuto, and Oshitari were the only ones left. For a while, anyway.

That was another thing. Gakuto left to study abroad in France. It was something about his father, something about law school. When the redhead finished telling him, all he did was stay silent. Gakuto was the one to speak first, asking, "Well?"

"It doesn't seem like you," Oshitari said at last. "Law school?"

He shrugged. "Law school doesn't seem like you either, Yuushi." And that was that. They kept in touch for a few years, if it could be called that ("How's France?" "I miss the natto."), but then the messages got shorter and shorter until they stopped altogether. But he supposed there wasn't much that could have been done about that.

It didn't stop him from feeling guilty. Even if his friend was on the other side of the Earth, Gakuto had made an attempt to keep in touch. Oshitari had to admit, he didn't put nearly as much effort in responding. Maybe it was because he'd sounded so different in his letters, nothing like the person he knew. Gakuto sounded calculating, almost. Oshitari didn't know if it was because of the style of writing or if Gakuto had simply changed, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

Oshitari had chosen to stay in Tokyo and study there. Hiyoshi, coincidentally, applied for the same university the following year. They'd both joined the same workforce, eventually.

The former regulars were now scattered across Japan, but only for the moment. Atobe had returned to commemorate the opening of his new company branch in Japan, as had Kabaji. Oshitari had heard that Jiroh was now an intern to some political leader in Japan, and that Shishido and Ootori were still working together, Shishido an architect and Ootori an interior designer. And Gakuto had supposedly returned to Japan for a brief vacation.

Gakuto.

He wondered what Gakuto was doing at the moment. He never seemed like the sort of person to end up as a lawyer, but he supposed it was suitable, in a way. Lawyers were stubborn. Gakuto was stubborn. There was definitely a connection there.

It amused him to no end that the Hyotei graduates were now wielding such powerful careers, when none of them had actually graduated from college. As far as he knew, everybody was still balancing school with work, as was he. He wasn't sure if anybody regretted it.

The fact that Oshitari had been so relieved that he'd be working with someone he knew surprised him. He would have thought that after so many years, he'd have gotten used to the absence of his former teammates. But maybe there was something in that, something in clinging to the past . . .

Ah, well. No use in thinking about it now.

Oshitari sighed and put his glasses back on. Most of his colleagues knew he didn't need them—they were a force of habit, just as everything else in his daily routine was. Wake up. Shower, get dressed. Go to work. Drink coffee. Complete the file work, documents. Go home. Go to night school. Go back home, go to sleep. It wasn't nearly as exciting as the work the majority of his colleagues did. They were heroes behind it all, saving lives and the such. Oshitari didn't get to handcuff people or use movie lines. He had a gun, but it was never used.

He supposed "detective" was a far too outdated term to use. He was a criminal investigator—psychology was what fascinated him, in the end. And it was the psychology of things that usually led to his success.

Once in a blue moon, he'd get put on an interesting case. A dead woman, a missing weapon, someone mentally challenged, someone physically challenged, a claimed murder, an unproven murder—but such instances were rare. While Tokyo was a bustling city, it seemed as though the crime rate was low.

_Or maybe people just get away with it more easily, _he mused wryly.

The door to his office was flung open, and Oshitari looked up in mild surprise. "Ah, Hiyoshi. Can I help you?"

Hiyoshi held an open envelope in his hand. "Che, always straight to the point. I got a letter from Atobe-san. It was addressed to both of us."

Oshitari merely quirked an eyebrow. "Really? Are you certain it wasn't a hoax, perhaps?"

"It was definitely Atobe," he replied with an exasperated huff. "The use of "ore-sama" was quite frequent. It sounded like him, at least. He invited us to a reunion, with RikkaiDai and Seigaku and all those people. "

"A reunion," Oshitari repeated, not quite sure what to make of it.

"Yes, a reunion." Hiyoshi frowned. "Sitting in your office all day is doing damage to your brain, Oshitari-san."

Had it been anyone else, Oshitari might have been offended, but he simply laughed. "I suppose it is," he decided, mirth still present in his voice. "So he wants a reunion, eh? How long has it been? We saw one another last when we were eighteen, I believe. That's three years."

"So you can still do math," Hiyoshi said dryly. "Anyway, Atobe-san said he wants us all to meet up at this big hotel he's opening. And I quote, "Don't be late, and dress sharp. Ore-sama hopes that your tastes in clothing have improved since we last saw each other.""

"That does sound like him," Oshitari agreed. There was silence for a few moments, as Oshitari took a sip of his cold coffee. Hiyoshi looked around his friend's office.

"How can you bear to stay here all day?" he demanded at last. "This room is too dreary. Even for me."

Oshitari glanced around in mild surprise. It was a simple room, with one desk and a swivel chair. There was a potted plant by the window. The blinds were shut, and a small lamp on the right side corner of the desk was lit, despite it being eleven in the morning. "Is it?"

"It's morbid," Hiyoshi confirmed. "Why do you have the blinds shut? And the lamp on? It's a good day today."

He shrugged, not really sure what to say. "I prefer the lamp's light."

"It's morbid," Hiyoshi said again, and made to leave the room. "So are we going?"

Oshitari went back to his computer game, to the repetitive little tune. "I suppose we are."

**---**

_I should have expected it to be this lavish, _Oshitari mused, looking up at the hotel. It either had over a hundred floors or just had very tall walls, and knowing Atobe, it was probably both. Even the décor resembled the former team captain. Everything about it was contradictory. The windows and ledges were elegant, floral, almost, whereas the walls were metallic and glassy. The walls were a soft, dainty white, but the door was an unforgiving black.

"This is so typical of him," Hiyoshi said flatly, and Oshitari couldn't help a chuckle.

The doorman asked to see their invitation when they approached. He examined it, checked it against the light, and scanned it, and it occurred to Oshitari that Atobe's parties must have been very desirable. Probably equally as elusive to the general public.

The two of them entered, and Oshitari wasn't at all surprised to see that the inside of the hotel was as elegant as the outside. "The reunion is taking place on the thirtieth floor," the doorman called after them.

The elevator doors opened, and just in time. Hiyoshi immediately began to examine the number of buttons, and triumphantly declared that there were, in fact, one hundred and fifteen. The ride was quick, brief, and surprisingly smooth. It seemed to be a matter of seconds before the doors opened again, this time to light classical music and the clinking of champagne flutes.

Shishido was the first to notice their arrival. He wore a basic grey suit and tie, and Oshitari realized with mild surprise that he'd grown his hair out again. "Hey, you came!" He fixed Hiyoshi with a long stare. "You haven't changed a bit. You still look thirteen."

"Thank you, Shishido-san," he replied wearily, and excused himself to meet up with one of the Seigaku graduates.

Shishido and Oshitari shared an amused glance. "So, law enforcement?"

He nodded. "Criminal investigator."

"You dragged Hiyoshi in it too, eh?"

"Not into investigating," Oshitari replied defensively. "He's your typical police officer, I suppose." He gave an indulgent smile. "I don't think anyone saw that coming, not even him."

The older man murmured agreement. "We should get you introduced," he said suddenly. "Have you seen Atobe yet?"

He realized that, among a swarm of expensive suits and former rivals, Atobe had been mysteriously absent. "As a matter of fact, I haven't. But it's not something to be made a big deal of," he acknowledged. "He always did like to have a dramatic entrance, after all."

"It's not like him to be so late."

Oshitari gave him a pointed look, and Shishido laughed in reply. "You're late too," the architect reminded him.

He shrugged. "You're right. So who have you seen?"

"Well, I came here with Choutaro," he said thoughtfully. "I think we ran into a few people from Seigaku on our way here, actually. Remember that Fuji guy? He's studying psychology. Crazy, huh? The weird, tall guy with the opaque glasses started his own company, something with health drinks. I was talking to a few RikkaiDai graduates before you and Hiyoshi came. Let's see . . . you know Niou Masaharu's an actor now, right?"

"Who doesn't?" Oshitari murmured. He'd been oddly successful, and it was certainly a career path no one had been expecting, but then again, no one in the room really followed their initial career of choice. "Isn't Yagyuu Hiroshi his manager?"

"And publicist," Shishido added. "You know Sanada and Yukimura both ended up becoming professional tennis players. I heard they're going to have private tutors and then take the test for their degrees separately. Kirihara Akaya, too."

"I'd like to speak to them, actually. It's been a long time; do you know where they are?"

Shishido shrugged and turned away. "Knock yourself out. They're all here somewhere; I'm going to go find Choutaro."

He was right; it seemed as though everybody had arrived. Oshitari spent a few moments making small talk with Sanada, Yukimura, and Kirihara, who were all clustered together and discussing the competition for their next tournament. Niou and Yagyuu were conversing with Marui and Jackal before Niou left to find someone, and Oshitari joined the conversation. They were unexpectedly amiable, and though Hyotei and RikkaiDai had never actually faced off in a tournament, Oshitari had always imagined them to be cruel, arrogant people.

_Guess not. _

In fact, almost all the people in the room were chatting and conversing. They weren't gathered according to their former schools at all; the Seigaku graduates were just as friendly as those of RikkaiDai, if not more so. A good portion of the party had passed already, and all he'd done was talk. He was just walking away from Inui and his strange looking health drink when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Yo."

_That voice. _Oshitari whipped around and there stood Gakuto, still short, still petite, still with longish hair, still with fierce blue eyes. Except instead of his street clothes, he wore a suit and a bright red tie. His features had sharpened, but then again, so had everyone else's. Still, there was something about his expression—something was different. "Hello, Ga—Mukahi."

Gakuto gave him an odd little look. "I'm Gakuto. You're Yuushi. I'll always be Gakuto, and you'll always be Yuushi. That's the way things are, so don't go making awkward situations where they're not present."

He felt strangely relieved by his friend's comment, and noted that he hadn't changed at all—at least, his straightforwardness was still intact. "Very well, Gakuto. How have you been?"

The redhead shrugged. "Okay. Being a lawyer's not so bad—I just don't like the filing. School's going well, too. And you?"

This time it was Oshitari who gave him a look. The Gakuto he knew would have raved on and on about how evil his teachers were, or how annoying his colleagues were, and would generally have taken the entire night complaining. Instead, he'd turned the conversation toward him, and Oshitari found himself at a loss for words. "I'm a criminal investigator," he said simply.

"Yeah, I know, you're a detective. Just tell me, is it as exciting as they make it seem in those detective novels? Like, Agatha Christie stuff."

"You read?" He arched an eyebrow, fully expecting an offended outburst.

Rather strangely, Gakuto laughed. "Yeah, I read. Agatha Christie novels are my favorite. Is being a detective like that? With all those twists and subplots and antagonists and everything?"

"I suppose. There aren't many criminals in Tokyo," he replied wryly.

Gakuto's laughter faded. "You'd be surprised."

Needless to say, that was a peculiar response, even for Gakuto—especially for Gakuto. _But people change, _Oshitari thought, _and Gakuto is certainly not the same person who left to study abroad three years ago. _He couldn't decide if it was a change for the better or worse.

**---**

The party seemed to be going smoothly, but Oshitari wouldn't have expected anything less. He and Gakuto had taken to discussing their jobs, and once again, he observed that something about him seemed different. Gakuto noticed his unease.

"Hey, are you okay? You don't look well."

Oshitari shook his head once. "I'm fine. Go on."

He seemed dubious, but continued, "Alright, so then Jean-kun started ranting about how it was within his client's rights to do that, and _my _client was glaring at me like it was my fault the prosecutor was . . ."

Something was definitely unusual. It couldn't have been his appearance—Gakuto looked almost the same as he did before. Maybe it was the tie; but then again, Oshitari had seen him in formal wear plenty of times back in school. No, it wasn't that . . .

Then Gakuto laughed, and Oshitari realized that the mirth didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Are you . . ." he began, but never got to finish his sentence, for Yagyuu had just raced over to them, looking uncharacteristically panicked.

"Oshitari-kun, have you seen Niou-kun?" he asked. Gakuto and Oshitari turned to look at him. He was breathing heavily, as if he'd been running around the entire hotel, and with a jolt, Oshitari realized that perhaps he had.

"No, I haven't," he answered, keeping his voice calm. "Why?"

"I can't find him anywhere; I checked all the floors, all one hundred and fifteen. He said he was going to meet someone, but he didn't specify who. I should have known—but you never know with Niou-kun . . ." He was rambling now, but Oshitari decided against pointing it out. Clearly the man needed to vent somehow, and to be frank, Oshitari wasn't that worried. Niou always did seem like the sort of person to go at his own pace, and surely he was more than able to take care of himself.

"I'm sure he's fine," Gakuto assured, but cast a worried glance at Oshitari. "He's a capable guy."

"You don't understand, he . . ." Yagyuu began, then trailed off. He shook his head. "Never mind." In a matter of seconds, he was off, asking another group of people if they'd seen Niou.

Suddenly, the room fell silent. All eyes turned to Atobe Keigo, who at last entered the room, holding a glass of champagne, Kabaji at his side. His eyes seemed haunted, hollow, and his expression didn't match the rest of his body. They held a distant, faraway look, and had to clear his throat several times before he could speak into the microphone Kabaji handed him. "Everybody, be calm. I—I have an announcement to make, but you mustn't interrupt."

_Atobe never stutters._

"He used 'I' instead of 'ore-sama,'" Gakuto murmured after a moment, and Oshitari wasn't sure which was more bizarre—that he himself hadn't noticed, or that Gakuto had been the one to point it out.

"We found Niou," Atobe said slowly. "The police will be here soon, and I'm going to ask that all of you gather to room 3041 on the thirtieth floor."

The room broke into a chorus of curious murmurs. Yagyuu seemed to anticipate what was coming next, for his face took on a pale, ghostly quality. "What's going on?" someone demanded.

"He's dead. Niou Masaharu is dead; he's been shot, a bullet to the head. We found his body in the room upstairs."

* * *

Oh my God, I killed Niou. Oh my God, I'm writing _yaoi. _I can't help it; Oshitari and Gakuto are just so awesome together.


	2. Luxury

There was silence. Oshitari was staring at Atobe, rather dumbfounded. He was dead? But he'd seen the actor merely hours ago . . . Then he flinched at the naïve thought. Hours—minutes, even—were more than enough time to commit murder.

Judging by the looks of the partygoers, however, no one else seemed to feel the same way. Most people looked disbelieving, gaping like fish with their jaws on the ground. Had the situation not been so grim, he might have laughed.

Gakuto, Oshitari noticed, wasn't doing much of anything. "Something like this actually happened in a case, once," the lawyer murmured.

Then someone choked on his wine, and that one miniscule sound was enough to start an uproar.

"What? That's impossible!"

"What sort of twisted joke is this?"

"He's dead? Isn't this building secure?" Momoshiro demanded, and Atobe fixed him with a glare.

"Of course it is, commoner," the young businessman huffed. "Don't you see? Nobody aside from us and the workers could possibly have entered the building. Atobe Corp. has the best security in the country."

There was more commotion, but one voice rose above the rest. "I want to see him," Yagyuu said, his voice firm and assertive. Claims that Atobe's statement was a lie ceased immediately.

Atobe himself seemed numb, and nodded slowly. "Yagyuu, come with me. Hiyoshi, Oshitari, you two as well. The rest of you, follow Kabaji into room 3041." He pierced the tension with an icy glare. "Not one of you will be leaving without my consent."

The room fell silent again, and Oshitari began to follow Atobe to the exit. "Don't cause trouble," he whispered to Gakuto, who gave him an indignant look. For a moment, Oshitari saw his doubles partner in the man standing before him.

Then Gakuto exhaled, and his expression cooled. "Of course not," he answered calmly. "I'm not fourteen anymore, Yuushi." And just like that, the look was gone.

Oshitari couldn't decide if he was confused or disappointed as he left.

"Oshitari-san," Hiyoshi said, pushing him along. "Don't just stand there."

"Right," he murmured, and picked up his pace. "I can walk for myself, thank you."

"It didn't look like it." They kept up the mild banter until they reached the elevator, Oshitari casting one glance back before disappearing from sight.

**--- **

The first thing Oshitari realized was that the murderer was either very careless or very deliberate.

The room in which Niou's body supposedly laid was the central room, the largest and the most extravagant. It clearly stood out from the other rooms on the floor, and would definitely be the first thing anyone would look at.

"This guy's stupid," Hiyoshi blurted, looking annoyed. "Why would he leave the body in _that _room?"

"Think about it," Atobe replied, before Oshitari could say a word. "There are several possibilities; he either wants the body to be found, or he didn't have the time to move the body, which is unlikely, because Niou's obviously been dead for some time now." He glanced at Yagyuu, perhaps to see if he was offended by his choice of words, but the man remained unmoved.

Hiyoshi, however, _was _offended. "Well, it's not like you described the shade of his skin or gave us an autopsy."

"We can see for ourselves," Oshitari pointed out, and walked inside the room.

At first, nothing seemed to be out of place. The room was still perfectly organized. The carpet wasn't bloody, the windows weren't shattered.

Next, he saw the body.

Oshitari was only assigned to the biggest cases, the ones that attracted the most attention. In Tokyo, those cases were rather gruesome, and as a result, he'd gotten used to the sight. As odd as it was to say it, Niou's murder was—for lack of a better word—tidy. It was a swift kill, as Atobe had said: a bullet to the head. He doubted Niou had felt any pain.

The pistol with which Niou had been killed looked like nothing but a small toy. It had a mother-of-pearl handle, and had Niou's initials engraved on it. _It must have been Niou's gun, but why would he bring it to a reunion? _

The actor's face lacked expression. His eyes were closed, and he was neither smiling nor frowning. His hand was gripping the pistol, and for a moment Oshitari wondered if it was suicide. Then he noticed what Atobe's infamous insight had seen, and realized that the hand was wrapped too awkwardly around the gun for it to have been Niou who'd been holding it. Somebody must have placed the pistol in his hand to make it look like suicide.

But then, why didn't that person fake a suicide note?

The silence was growing to be unbearable, so Oshitari began walking around the room. "I can't find anything," he said needlessly.

"You won't find anything," Atobe confirmed, arms folded across his chest. "There's some blood on the desk, but not a trace of anything else. At least, as far as ore-sama can tell."

"Do you think the murderer was going for suicide?"

Two sets of eyes turned to Hiyoshi, who shrugged. "Whoever he or she was, the gun was placed into Niou's hand," he said defensively. "It's not a very far-fetched idea."

Oshitari shook his head. "You're right, it isn't. It's just . . ."

"There wasn't a suicide note," Atobe finished. "The murderer could have done without it, that's true, but to be able to kill someone like Niou, he must have understood Niou's psychology."

"And Niou was the type to go out with a bang," Hiyoshi concluded, rather dryly.

All the while, Yagyuu had remained silent, staring at Niou's body with an unreadable expression on his face. "You idiot," he said at last, softly—almost affectionately, but Oshitari knew better. His voice rose, then, and he repeated, "You idiot. Too reckless, that's what you are; you thought you knew it all, didn't you? Do you think I didn't know what you were doing?"

Then his voice dropped to a whisper, and Oshitari thought he heard a "thank you." It was only when the doctors and the police came that Yagyuu left, and he wondered how it felt, to be so close to somebody.

**---**

Most of the other graduates had left, and those who hadn't were steadily filing out. Reporters and paparazzi clamored outside the hotel, begging the alumni for statements, information—anything.

_Niou is going to be well-missed, _Oshitari thought, looking for his coat. The closet Atobe had insisted he put it in was incredibly large, and there were several other people looking for their jackets as well. _What a bother. _He checked his pocket for the list Hiyoshi had given him—a paper with the names and contact information of all the people at the reunion.

He blinked as someone shoved his coat in his face.

"Hey," Gakuto said, handing the coat over and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

For a moment, he just stood there—until he realized he was obligated to give a reply. "Thank you," he said, and took the jacket. "Why are you still here?"

There was no change in his expression as he said, "I thought I'd wait for you. You know, it's been a long time and all, and I figured we could catch up or something." His voice implied that Oshitari was slightly idiotic for not understanding that, but his eyes remained guarded.

Oshitari couldn't say that he particularly liked that expression. "That's fine. Where would you like to go?"

"I don't know, a coffee shop or something. How about Camille's Café?"

Camille's Café had opened only a month ago, and was one of the most high end shops in Tokyo. Of all the places he'd expected Gakuto to pick, Camille's Café was certainly not one of them. "You . . ."

Gakuto faltered, and for a moment, Oshitari thought he could see something in those eyes. But then he turned away, tilted his head downwards, and his hair covered his face. "If you don't want to, I could . . ."

"No, it sounds great. I just didn't think you liked those types of shops; porcelain teacups, satin and all." He walked outside, and Gakuto followed. When had things gotten so awkward between them?

Silence loomed over them like a storm cloud, searching for someone to rain on, and at last, Gakuto mumbled, "Get it through your head, Yuushi. I'm not fourteen anymore." He looked up and smiled, his eyes carefully guarded again. Oshitari knew the words weren't meant to sting, but they did, and he wasn't sure why. "Hey, it's not like you're still the same." He paused, then laughed. "Actually, no, you are. You acted twenty-one when you were fourteen, anyway, so I guess there's really not a difference.

"I get it, you know," he added quietly. "Maybe it's hard to get used to, but you will eventually, right? I mean, it's not like it's a huge change or anything." He laughed again, though this time, it sounded bitter. "I still look exactly the same."

"That's not such a bad thing," he reminded.

"It is if you get mistaken for a girl on a weekly basis," he huffed.

"Really, now?"

"Just yesterday, on my way to La Boutique du Livre, this guy stopped me on the streets and asked for my phone number. If he were gay, then whatever—it's not like I would have given him my number anyway—but then he called me a Barbie, and the most adorable doll he'd ever seen," he fumed.

"Isn't La Boutique de Livre a stationary shop?" Oshitari interrupted.

He gave the detective a pointed look. "Way to state the obvious, Yuushi. Didn't you take French in high school? Yes, it's a stationary shop."

He must have looked confused, for Gakuto explained, "Most people at the law firm have personal stationary; it's kind of like a tradition, in a way. Weird, right?" He didn't wait for an answer, which might have been the first Gakuto-like thing he'd done all day. "And none of the stationary shops in Japan personalize stuff the way I prefer them, so I went to the only French one I could find. I didn't think Tokyo would have so many French stores, actually—the café, the stationary shop, the boutique . . ."

"You're really acquired a taste for the European," Oshitari mused, wondering how the feisty redhead, who'd once been completely against the high-end and refined, could have made such a turnaround.

"Living in France for three years does that to a person," he said wryly. "I didn't expect to get so used to Europe, but I did." He shrugged. "The stuff there is so classy that you kind of adapt, I guess." He sounded proud of it, but Oshitari couldn't say that he felt the same way.

They arrived at the café and chose a table for two, which happened to be the last one left. "Guess Japan has a taste for the French, too," he said idly, fiddling with the menu and gesturing to the crowd of people in the shop.

"There are people like Atobe everywhere," Oshitari replied, resisting a smile.

"Nah, we're not all stuck up brats." There was definitely a touch of mirth in his voice, and Oshitari had to chuckle at the indirect insult.

"He appears to have mellowed out," he noted.

Gakuto murmured his agreement. "Someone died in his hotel. It can't be good for business. I almost feel bad for him."

"He's an Atobe, he'll figure it out. But 'almost'?"

"He's an Atobe," Gakuto repeated. "He doesn't like pity. You of all people should know that."

More silence. A waitress came by to take their orders. Oshitari requested dark coffee, and Gakuto asked for the same. He turned to the young lawyer in surprise. Wasn't hot chocolate his favorite drink?

Gakuto caught his stare. "I picked a bad day to catch up, didn't I?" He laughed humorlessly. "I should have waited till the whole thing blew over or something."

"But who knew when I would have seen you again?"

"You say that like I'm the one who's been distant," was the calm reply.

Oshitari began to protest, but Gakuto cut him off. "It's okay; I didn't mean anything by it. It's just . . . been a pretty melancholic day."

"That's what a death does."

Gakuto nodded and rose from his seat, not bothering to wait for his drink. He placed five thousand yen on the table. "Even if some people deserve to die."

He glanced back and gave a casual wave. "Bye, Yuushi," he added, "We can catch up some other time." With that, he left the shop.

And Oshitari was left staring after him.

**--- **

The dim November light had long since died out, and once again, Oshitari was sitting at his desk, lamp lit and files in hand. He'd taken to reading and rereading the autopsy, though there wasn't much present that he didn't already know.

The cause was the bullet wound, of course—not so much loss of blood as the location to which it was placed. He'd been dead for approximately two hours by the time the body was initially found. No toxins had been found in the body, nor was there any evidence of a natural death. There were no traces of fingerprints—aside from those of Atobe's, which had been on the door handle.

_Why was he there, anyway? _Oshitari wondered. _Spur of the moment? Atobe's not that type. He shouldn't have had any reason to go to that floor, and even less to enter the room. _

Then there was the fact that some people hadn't been surprised, at all. Yagyuu seemed to expect it, as did Yukimura and Marui. The people who barely knew Niou were overemotional, and the people who did know him were stoic.

No, none of this made sense.

And no matter how many times he tried to focus on the autopsy, his mind kept trailing back to that one afternoon conversation, the one that was supposed to have nothing to do with the case.

"_If you don't want to, I could . . ."_

"_I'm not fourteen anymore."_

"_The stuff there is so classy that you kind of adapt, I guess."_

"_I almost feel bad for him."_

"_Even if some people deserve to die." _

Something about the way he said that—it was strange, it was secretive. But nevertheless, it'd been a strange, secretive day. In the end, there are two types of secrets; the type you can't wait to tell, and the type that forces you down.

There was a slow, firm knock. "Come in."

Hiyoshi entered, a cup of coffee in hand. "Really, Oshitari-san. You need to get this place remodeled." Oshitari didn't answer, so he continued, "You've got the whole department worried. What happened today?"

"You were there," he replied, not really knowing how to describe it. At least, that might have been part of it. The truth was, he wasn't sure if he wanted anyone else to know. There were two types of secrets, after all, but there were too many to classify.

"Not for all of it. Did something happen with Mukahi-san? Could I help?"

Oshitari smiled sardonically. "Thank you for the offer, but no. Nothing happened; I just need to . . . to think for a bit." He hesitated. "Can someone change? Can he change so much that you don't know who he is anymore?"

Hiyoshi didn't comment on the peculiarity of the question, and for that, Oshitari was grateful. "I guess so," he said slowly. "But sometimes, it turns out you never knew who they were to begin with."

* * *

Thanks again to Shibataea, who totally went out of her way to help me with this (and spotted quite a few embarrassing mistakes on my part). And if you guys have any guesses as to who the murderer might be, feel free to PM me. I might put a poll up there eventually, if I get the chance. It's kind of hard to tell who the murderer is at the moment, considering I really don't give him much - if any - screentime, but hopefully you guys will have some more educated guesses by, say, the fifth chapter.

As always, feedback is appreciated, but only if you have the time.


	3. Inquiry

This is totally unedited; I read it over to make sure there weren't any errors, but I could definitely have missed something. Point it out if you spot anything, please?

Enjoy.

* * *

Unexpectedly, the dullest part of being an investigator wasn't the paperwork. Rather, it was the interrogations. For Oshitari, anyway. He pulled off his glasses and wiped them, wishing Hiyoshi hadn't talked him into it.

"'You've been putting this off long enough,'" Oshitari said, mimicking Hiyoshi's voice. "Hiyoshi, you hypocrite. Who's the one who arrives ten minutes late to work each day?" Oshitari gave an exasperated sigh and began sorting the files. He'd organized an appointment with Marui at ten-thirty in the morning, Yanagi fifteen minutes after, then Jackal, then Yukimura and Sanada, then Kirihara, and Yagyuu last. It struck him as odd that the person closest to Niou had asked to be last, but Oshitari decided not to question it—at least, not yet.

Someone knocked on the door, and he assumed it was his daily delivery of coffee. "Come in." The assistant walked in—followed by Marui Bunta, who was looking particularly disheveled.

The coffee was placed on his desk, but Oshitari took no notice. "You're about fifteen minutes early," he said simply. "Have a seat."

"I couldn't sleep," Marui admitted, and began to fiddle with one of the pens on Oshitari's desk. "I'm sorry; is this an inconvenience?"

"Not at all. Please don't be nervous," he added. "Weren't we rivals, once? The interrogations are purely routine work. I'm not rather fond of them myself, to be honest."

"I—yeah. Right." He closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath, which Oshitari didn't quite catch. "I'll help you ask much as I can."

Oshitari nodded and pulled out a notepad. "It will be appreciated. We'll start with the basics. Where were you on the day of the party, and what were you doing?"

"I—I arrived a bit late, and by the time I got there, the party had already started. I spotted Jackal first, so we started talking. You know, school and stuff."

"You two are sharing a dorm, aren't you?"

"Yeah, we are."

"Then why didn't you walk to the reunion together?" Oshitari asked curiously.

"I, uh, couldn't decide on what to wear so he left first," he mumbled.

Oshitari raised an eyebrow at that, but gestured for him to continue.

"Right, so we started talking, and then a few Seigaku guys came by and we talked about tennis for a while, and then we found Yukimura and company, and asked them about work and everything . . . It was pretty typical," he admitted. "I mean, there wasn't much out of the ordinary. We talked to some Hyotei people, too—uh, Jiroh, I think. Then Niou and Yagyuu walked over, but then Niou said he had to find something, which was kind of weird because it was his first time in the hotel, but I really didn't pay much attention . . . I—I should have, though. Maybe I would have noticed beforehand, and then . . ." He trailed off, and swallowed. "We were really close, you know? We kept in touch and everything, and even though he was all famous, he made time for the team."

Marui paused again and gave a forced laugh. "I'm sorry, I'm getting off topic. Okay, so he left, and Yagyuu stayed for a while before Yanagi and Inui—from Seigaku, I think—pulled him away to talk about some science thing. So I went to the buffet table and I just kind of stayed there till . . . You know, that."

Oshitari nodded. "Thank you. I'm sorry for your loss," he murmured. "Tell me a bit about him, if you would. Let's see, he was a talented actor."

"He was good at a lot of things," Marui replied slowly. "He could've been anything he wanted. It's not fair, you know? I mean, there are so many mundane people out there, and of all the people in the world, it had to be _him._ It's unfair." He seemed at ease now, talking about him. "He could have been anything he wanted, but he wanted to be an actor. I think he always thought acting was the type of thing that paid well and required little work—he was kind of shallow, but when it came to other things . . . Yeah."

"That'll do fine. You mentioned that he kept in touch with the team. Do you happen to know what he was doing on the day of the reunion?"

"I—he said something about visiting his family," Marui said abruptly. "His aunt and uncle. They weren't on great terms, but he was the type who took delight in making people squirm. It never got out of hand—always the little things. Yagyuu was the one who kept him in order."

"Yagyuu?"

"Yeah, he and Yagyuu were really close. Like, abnormally close. And Yagyuu looked after him a lot. Niou is—was—the type to get into trouble, just for the heck of it."

The rest of the interrogation went by uneventfully, with the standardized questions and answers. Marui confirmed the contact information, and left.

**---**

Yanagi and Jackal arrived only a few minutes later, and Oshitari wondered if they were unable to sleep as well. Yanagi, unlike Marui, looked steadied and calm—not at all the fidgeting mess his teammate was. "I'm Yanagi Renji, and I came to the reunion alone. I was the fourth to arrive, with the first few being Yukimura, Sanada, and Echizen of Seigaku. That is what you wanted to know, yes?"

Oshitari smiled wryly and nodded. "Thank you, Yanagi. Could you—"

"Tell you exactly what I was doing at the party?" Yanagi interrupted. "Of course. Naturally, I gravitated toward Yukimura and Sanada, after giving Echizen a brief greeting. We discussed their careers for a few moments. By the time we were done, the room was almost full. I had a word with Inui, but when he left to speak to Tezuka, I went to find the other RikkaiDai members. I'm afraid I don't remember the exact details of any conversations, but most of them revolved around their careers and such topics."

"I see. You've been a great help. Now if—"

"I could tell you what I believe Niou was doing before the party? I'm afraid he didn't say much, but he mentioned going out to eat with a few friends."

"Ah. Then—"

"You want to know what I thought of Niou as a person." He didn't bother to wait for Oshitari's (somewhat exasperated) nod of confirmation. "He was a talented tennis player, and a gifted actor. I don't believe anybody expected that, but there is no denying his aptitude. He was reckless and confident, but rightfully so."

Oshitari opened his mouth to speak, but once again, Yanagi spoke first. "I apologize if I'm interrupting you, but I'd like to make this fast." He pushed a card toward him. "This has all my contact information, as well as five sources—five friends. You can go to them if you'd like further information. Now, I have a meeting at Yusen Inc. I hope I was of service."

With that, he left, and Oshitari massaged his temple. "That," he mumbled to himself, "was the quickest interrogation I have ever led."

**--- **

Jackal came next and apologized on behalf of Yanagi. "He's quite rushed today," he explained. "There's a meeting in regards to Niou's death, and he's been snappy all morning."

"It's fine," Oshitari assured. "Please, sit. For starters, it'd be a great help to me if you'd tell me as much as you remember about the party."

Jackal, like Marui, seemed edgy, but was much less obvious about it than Marui was. "I went alone," he began.

"Wait," Oshitari interrupted. "You and Marui share a dorm room, don't you? Why didn't you two go together?"

Jackal shifted. "I was in a rush, so we went separately." Without bothering to elaborate, he continued, "There were a few Hyotei members on their way to the reunion, so I walked with them. Shishido and Ootori, I believe. We weren't early, but we weren't really late either—Fuji was already there, talking to Marui, and Yukimura and Sanada had just arrived."

The rest of the interrogation went as planned—no interruptions (by Jackal, at least), and generally, received straight answers. Yes, that was a nice change of pace.

**---**

Oshitari flipped to a new page, but before he had a chance to look at the notes he'd taken, someone walked in unannounced. "Oshitari-kun," a silky voice greeted. "I believe we're early."

He looked up to see Yukimura and Sanada, each looming over him with calm if not slightly threatening expressions. "You are," Oshitari acknowledged, "but the rest of RikkaiDai was as well, so it doesn't make much of a difference."

Yukimura laughed while Sanada frowned, mumbling something that sounded faintly like "Tarundoru" under his breath. "I'd like to go first," the latter added, and sat down with his arms crossed. Yukimura smiled and left without another word.

Oshitari cleared his throat and said, "Welcome, Sanada.

"Hn."

"Please, don't be nervous about any of this." Sanada gave him a look that clearly stated, _Do I look nervous to you?_Oshitari did his best to ignore it."Answer my questions to the best of your ability, and this will be over and done with soon."

"Hn."

"Alright, then. Tell me what happened on the day of the reunion, and at the reunion, if you please."

"Yukimura and I arrived on time. We spoke to several former members of RikkaiDai, including Niou and Yagyuu. Later on, Yukimura left to speak to Tezuka. I spoke to those who approached me, but no one else. Most people were from RikkaiDai, but Fuji and Echizen came as well. Yukimura came back later, and we were about to find Akaya when Atobe made the announcement."

His voice was calm and rigid, and he spoke without blinking. There was no sign of relief when Oshitari moved onto the next question, no curiosity in his eyes when the investigator took notes. He remained perfectly mechanical, and Oshitari wasn't sure if he ought to commend him or shake some sense into him. "Do you know what Niou was doing on the day of the party? Several members of the team have informed me that Niou remained in close contact with the group, but no one was able to provide a concrete answer."

Expressionless, he said, "As far as I know, Niou went straight to the reunion. He wasn't the sort to keep people waiting.

Oshitari frowned but refrained from commenting. "And what did you think of Niou as a person?"

"He was a good tennis player," Sanada answered readily. "He could have been a professional."

Sanada seemed unwilling to say more, so he asked for the contact information and allowed him to leave. Yukimura entered a few moments after, without waiting to be called. "Wait for me, Sanada," he called back, and an affirmative grunt was heard. To Oshitari, he smiled. "Hello, Oshitari-kun."

"Yukimura," Oshitari acknowledged. "How has professional tennis been?"

"The opponents aren't nearly as good as the former members of the RikkaiDai tennis team." If it'd been anyone but Yukimura, the words might've sounded pompous, but as it was, they simply sounded proud. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to make small talk, actually. A friend has passed, and I'd like to help you with the situation without wasting your time."

"It's greatly appreciated," he answered sincerely. "Well, then, could you describe the day of the reunion to me?"

"Sanada and I arrived together, exactly on time. I remember checking my watch, in fact. We mostly spoke to RikkaiDai graduates, Yagyuu and Niou included. They were quite amiable; then I went to speak with Tezuka regarding his tennis career—I hadn't seen him in a while, you understand. He's been playing in Germany all this time. Anyway, then Echizen approached me, and we spoke for a while before he left with Fuji. I went back to Sanada after that, and he was telling me about finding Akaya. Then Atobe told us Niou was dead, and that was the end of that." He wasn't smiling anymore, but he didn't seem unhappy, either.

Impassive. That was the word for it.

"Okay," Oshitari murmured, half to himself. "Right, then. Do you happen to know where Niou was, that day?"

"I'm sure he went directly to the hotel," Yukimura said. "He was very reliable in terms of punctuality."

"How else would you describe him?" he prompted.

"He was a very gifted tennis player, but also a very good actor." He seemed to want to leave it at that, but then Yukimura paused. Something flickered in his eyes before he added, "He was a risk-taker, and charismatic. I think that might have been what led to such an untimely death." He smiled again and scribbled something on a sheet of paper. "This is my contact information. Please feel free to ask me questions at any time."

He left, and for a second, Oshitari could hear him talking quietly to Sanada. Their voices faded after a moment and he turned to his notes.

He frowned. Yukimura and Sanada's answers were very well-matched, but aside from theirs, the statements were rather conflicting.

**---**

This time, an obnoxiously loud pounding on the door alerted him of his next visitor. Kirihara Akaya walked in, arms crossed much the same way Sanada's were—although his expression was less threatening than indignant. "I'm not the murderer," he informed, sounding moody.

"I never said I suspected you," Oshitari replied, a bit exasperated. RikkaiDai was such a strange team.

"You never said you didn't," Akaya said stubbornly. "I'm supposed to be practicing tennis with Yukimura-buchou and fukubuchou. What do you want?"

"You still call them that?" he asked, surprised. "And I want to ask you a few questions about Niou, and the reunion. Surely you're aware of this."

"They're buchou and fukubuchou," Akaya answered with a shrug. "They always were, and they always will be." For a fleeting moment, Oshitari could hear Gakuto's voice.

"_I'm Gakuto. You're Yuushi. I'll always be Gakuto, and you'll always be Yuushi."_

"Just like Niou-senpai will always be Niou-senpai," the athlete continued. "You want to know what I did at the reunion, right? I wandered from person to person and insulted their tennis, 'cept buchou and fukubuchou. And Fuji-san, because that guy's weird and he almost broke my leg in the eighth grade."

"To be fair, you aimed a tennis ball at his stomach," Oshitari pointed out, not sure why he was defending Fuji.

"Technicalities," Akaya said, waving the thought away. "Anyway, I don't remember if I talked to Niou-senpai or not. I might have, I might not have."

"And what do you think your Niou-senpai was doing that day?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm three. I don't _know _what he was doing. He could've been doing anything. It's not like he told me. And even if he did, he could've been lying."

"What makes you think that?"

"He forced me into a lacy dress after telling me it's what all the tennis pros are doing," Akaya said wryly. "And then posted the pictures on my webpage." Before Oshitari could comment, he added, "I was only thirteen!"

_Only thirteen? _he thought sardonically. "So . . . you don't know anything. I find that difficult to believe, Kirihara, and I'm going to have to ask you to cooperate here."

"I don't know anything for certain," Akaya said, smiling wickedly. "I could tell you what I remember, though I'm not sure if it exactly happened that way: I have an awful memory."

"That's better than nothing, I suppose," Oshitari admitted.

"Great," he trilled. "So Niou-senpai and I were on our way to the reunion when we suddenly got attacked by ninjas dressed in hot pink. So of course, I unleashed my totally awesome tennis moves on them before Niou-senpai beat the hell out of them with his bare hands, but then a flaming penguin came by with a pig on wings and they stole my tennis racquet. And we couldn't let them get away with it, so we followed them, and they treated us to McDonald's as compensation, but then we got lost in the Amazon—which the president of Africa moved to Japan—and ended up late to the reunion."

_Africa's not a country, _was the first thought that came to mind. _He is such_ _a bad liar, _was a close second.

But Akaya had made it obvious—he wasn't saying anything.

"Alright, then," he said, resigned. "Would you at least tell me what you thought of Niou?"

The mischief faded for a moment. "I think I'm going to miss him," Akaya answered slowly. "I think he was a really good tennis player, that he tricked people a bit too much for his own good, that he was a really good senpai. And I think he liked the way he died."

That piqued Oshitari's interest. "Oh?"

"Yeah; it was dramatic and stuff. He's going to get just as much attention dead as when he was alive. He got everything he wanted out of life, in the end."

"He never started a family."

"He never wanted one."

That left him a bit speechless, and Akaya took this moment to leave. "If you need to ask me any more stuff—which you'd better not—you can call buchou or fukubuchou. Bye."

**---**

Hiyoshi entered the room during his break and smiled sympathetically. "You don't look well."

"Their statements are absolutely contradictory," Oshitari said with a sigh. "Marui's story fits nowhere. Yanagi claims he only had a word with Inui at the start of the party, whereas Marui says he and Inui had pulled Yagyuu away for conversation. Jackal says he spotted Marui talking to Fuji when he arrived at the party, but Marui says Jackal arrived first. Yanagi says Yukimura and Sanada were among the first to arrive, but Jackal tells me they arrived after Marui, who said he was late. Yukimura and Sanada's stories are perfectly synchronized, but I suspect they planned it beforehand. And in any case, their stories don't match with anybody else's. Akaya's explanation was . . . far-fetched, to say the least. It amazes me how the man managed to graduate from high school."

"I heard that bit," Hiyoshi agreed. "Something about ninjas and McDonald's? He did always appear to be the creative type. If he's going to make something up, he might as well make it seem believable. Still, he proved his point well."

Oshitari nodded. "He refuses to tell us anything. I don't think anyone from RikkaiDai is willing to speak. Though, there is Yagyuu left."

"He was so close to Niou-san that I doubt he'll be willing to say much at all," Hiyoshi commented dryly.

"Or he wants us to solve the case and avenge his friend's death.

Hiyoshi chuckled. "You make it sound like a cheesy movie." His gaze darkened a bit. "This is murder. There's never a guaranteed happy ending," he said grimly. "To be honest, it's a little worrisome to think that one of the people we once played tennis with could be a murderer."

"It is," Oshitari murmured, and as if on cue, someone knocked on the door. "Come in."

There stood Yagyuu, his expression carefully blank. "Am I early?

**--- **

"You're the last," Oshitari commented once Hiyoshi left. "Is there any reason you requested this particular slot?"

Yagyuu seemed amused, if nothing else. "Surely you've noticed that everything my friends told you are contradictory?"

"They were, though I must admit Kirihara's was the most creative."

"I'm sure his was," Yagyuu agreed fondly. "He's fiercely loyal, that one."

"Can I assume you'll tell me the truth?"

"You can."

"Why?"

"My teammates were trying to protect Niou-kun," he said. "I do not intend to."

_Why were they protecting him? What was there to protect? What did they know? How did they know? _But aloud, Oshitari only said, "Why not?"

"Niou didn't want to be protected," he replied calmly. "He didn't want to be looked after, didn't want to be smothered. It's unfair to him if, even in his death, people do so."

He sounded surprisingly bitter when he said that, but Oshitari paid it no mind. "That's a noble gesture, Yagyuu," he offered. "Niou would appreciate it, I believe."

Yagyuu didn't bother to deny or affirm Oshitari's statement, instead choosing to continue with the interrogation. "I'm sure you want to know what I was doing on the day of the reunion," he said. Oshitari automatically winced, remembering the conversation with Yanagi, and hoped this wouldn't be the same. "I was with Niou-kun the entire day. We were at a gun shop."

"A gun shop," Oshitari repeated, bemused, and leaned forward a bit.

"The pistol with which he was killed—he bought it that day. It was a fine revolver; he picked it himself. Akaya and Yukimura-kun quite approved of it, too."

"You went together?" he asked, startled. "Kirihara and Yukimura were with you?"

"Not just them; everybody from RikkaiDai. They knew Niou had been planning to buy a gun for the reunion—I don't believe he ever told us the reason for it, but I'm sure everybody had his own guess as to why."

"Did you?"

"I did not," he said. "I do not."

Oshitari leaned back again. "Didn't he have a gun to begin with?"

"I believe he did have a semi-automatic pistol at some point," Yagyuu confirmed. "It was from the same store, in fact. Marui-kun had been the one to pick it out for him—a silver one, with Niou-kun's initials engraved. I'm not quite certain why he chose to purchase a revolver."

"Did the team usually accompany him on trips to gun shops?" Oshitari inquired, wondering just how many times Niou went to that store.

"It was only those two times, as far as I know. He went to purchase bullets occasionally—he never really needed them, but he did frequent a shooting range. The team did often accompany him there—he insisted on teaching everybody how to use a gun. In any case, the team never accompanied him when it came to buying bullets."

"So the entire RikkaiDai tennis team knows how to use a gun," he mused.

He met Oshitari's gaze evenly. "Many people do. I hope you're not insinuating anything."

"No, no." He immediately dismissed the thought. "But why did Niou insist on it?"

"Protection, amusement, fear—it could be any of those things. But I do believe you are being deterred from the original question, Oshitari-kun." Without waiting for a response, he said, "He bought the pistol almost immediately before the reunion. The team initially went with him to the reunion, but we entered at different times to avoid paparazzi. We spoke to a multitude of people at the party; almost everybody, I believe. In the middle of a conversation with Marui and Jackal before Niou asked to be excused. I suppose he was meeting someone, but I didn't think much of it at the time. He'd always enjoyed being cryptic, and asking him would have been overprotective." He paused. "I did begin to worry when half an hour passed. Then an hour, and then two—and you saw me asking if anybody saw him. I'm afraid I didn't get very far with my questions," he added with a humorless laugh, "for Atobe came with the announcement only moments after."

Well, those were two questions answered. It remained to be seen whether Yagyuu's information was actually reliable, naturally, but the man didn't seem like he was lying. "What did you think of Niou, then? A description of his personality, perhaps; you were rather close to him, were you not?"

"I was," he granted. "But being close to a person doesn't necessarily mean one knows that person well." Once again, Oshitari's mind flashed to Gakuto. "Niou was a perceptive person; he was never caught off guard. If he lost, he accepted it calmly. He's the sort who can predict a victory or a loss long before its occurrence, which is why I don't believe he was particularly shocked by the murderer. If you noticed, his expression was a tranquil one."

"Your friends have called him a very talented individual," Oshitari commented.

"He was. He could have changed the world," Yagyuu said simply. "He chose not to, and that was what made him Niou."

Oshitari wasn't sure what to say in response, and settled for, "It appears you know him well, after all."

"I suppose." Yagyuu stood. "You have my contact information, should you require anything else. I've answered your questions the best I could. Goodbye."

Not for the first time that day, Oshitari was left staring at a closed door.


	4. Enigma

Okay, _this _is going to be the last update in a while. Maybe. (I'm on my Thanksgiving break right now, but it ends in a few days and I've yet to start my homework.) There's a huge rant about the whole school situation on my profile, and in the last chapter of School Days. But basically, I'm on the verge of failing science and I can't risk taking any time from my studies to write these things. There will still be updates--I intend to finish my stories--but they won't be as frequent.

Thanks to Shibataea for editing this, and with that said, enjoy.

* * *

Needless to say, Oshitari was not looking forward to the Seigaku interrogations.

For one, he highly doubted that Seigaku was any more sane than RikkaiDai had been, what with their infamous Inui Juice—which had apparently been turned into a health drink, the poor civilians—their notorious sadist, their rock of a captain . . . And if RikkaiDai was any proof, he'd say that the graduates hadn't changed at all.

For another, he honestly wanted to do the Hyotei questioning first, though he had to admit, it wasn't really for the sake of the case.

It just seemed like a decent excuse to see Gakuto.

_It'd been a while, _he persuaded himself. _And it's not as if I have any other chances to talk to him. _He chose to ignore the fact that he had the phone number Hiyoshi had provided him.

Why was he so nervous about talking to him, anyway? It was just Gakuto. The same Gakuto he'd played doubles with, the same Gakuto he'd teased Shishido and Ohtori with, the same Gakuto he went to high school with.

Though he had to admit, he couldn't exactly say Gakuto was the _same. _

"Stop moping," someone said. "It's not like I want to be here, either."

Oshitari looked up, mildly perturbed by the impertinent tone of voice, only to see Echizen Ryoma, arms folded and glaring down at him. Clearly, his years as a tennis player had made him chattier—and not any less arrogant. "You don't seem any more cheery about it," he pointed out. "And if you'd be so kind as to knock, next time, I'd greatly appreciate it."

Echizen frowned and seated himself. "Then close the door," he said flatly, pulling down his ever-present cap. "Mada mada dane."

"Right," Oshitari muttered. "Where were you on the day of the reunion?"

"I came here with Momo-san," he said, and promptly frowned again. "That sounds strange. I came here with Momo-_senpai,_" he amended. "We were late because he wanted to get something to eat, even though he already had two burgers before leaving."

"I would have expected you to come with Tezuka," Oshitari said. "Don't you two play professional tennis?"

"We play tennis. We don't sleep over and braid each other's hair."

Oshitari coughed discreetly, earning him a glare. "Go on."

Echizen shrugged. "There isn't much else. I talked to some people, and then Niou-san was killed."

"No strange behavior, or . . .?"

"No."

"Were you previously associated with Niou?"

"We all played tennis together. I never talked to him, if that's what you mean."

"Nothing else?"

"No."

Oshitari took back whatever he said about Echizen being chatty.

**--- **

Kaidoh Kaoru was an interesting character. For one, he looked an awful lot like a snake, and greeted Oshitari with a "Fshh."

"Good day to you too," he replied, mildly amused. "Have a seat. Kaidoh Kaoru, yes?"

Kaidoh grunted in reply.

Were all Seigaku graduates this laconic? Oshitari could feel a migraine coming on. Why couldn't they be more talkative? "Where were you on the day of the reunion?"

"I was at the gym for an hour, and then I went to the party alone. I didn't speak to anyone outside of the Seigaku graduates. Everything was as usual."

"Did you know Niou personally?"

"Seigaku played RikkaiDai in middle school and high school. I never played against him myself." He hesitated for a moment. "I—" He huffed and made to leave. "Fuji-san might know something. He's perceptive."

**---**

"Ah, I remember when we played tennis in the nationals," Momoshiro mused. "You beat me, even though I used my intuitive tennis . . . But then that Viper won _his _match. It's not right, it's just not."

"Where were you on the day of the reunion?" Oshitari regretted wishing the Seigaku regulars were chattier. Kaidoh and Echizen might have been unwilling to talk, but Momoshiro refused to shut up.

"Oh, I was with Echizen, grabbing a few burgers. That ungrateful brat, complaining the whole way there. He said I'd had something to eat already, and my stomach was a bottomless pit or something, but that's not true because technically the last time I'd eaten was _three _hours ago, and the walk to the hotel was really long."

"And what did you do _at _the reunion?" he prompted.

"I talked to people, went to the buffet table—you know, stuff. I don't really remember who I talked to, though. It's too bad, it just is. Hmm . . . I remember talking to everyone from Seigaku. You know, I think I did speak to Niou-san, but it was a quick hello. We didn't talk much. Nothing out of the ordinary. He seemed pretty upbeat. I'd say it was around an hour before the announcement."

Oshitari wrote it down. "Did you know Niou personally?"

"I did; I was his psychiatrist."

"He had a psychiatrist? He doesn't seem like the sort to have a mental disorder."

Momoshiro laughed. "He didn't. And yeah, he didn't like coming much. It was just routine stuff—I think it was Yagyuu-san who made him come, probably to make sure the stardom thing didn't go to his head. Anyway, the only thing we did at those sessions was talk about old times, so there's not much to tell."

"There's nothing else, then?"

He thought for a moment. "Well, Fuji-san was also his psychiatrist. We work together. Yagyuu-san insisted on it—I really don't know why. I'm still an assistant, you know. I did the routine work for Fuji-san, and he took care of the rest. I don't really know what they did during their sessions, though." He smiled sheepishly.

And his pupils dilated.

**--- **

For the most part, Inui, Oishi, and Kawamura were completely clueless. Inui had spent almost the entire party with Yanagi, whereas Kawamura had spent it with Oishi, trying to prevent Kaidoh and Momoshiro from killing one another. It was odd—time hadn't mellowed out their tempers much.

But then Oishi said, "Eiji seemed awfully distressed when he heard about Niou's death. I can't imagine why. He'd never known Niou personally."

**--- **

Eiji was next, and Oshitari noticed his eyes seemed to be a bit red-rimmed. "Are you alright?"

Eiji sniffled. "Yeah, I—I just . . . it's nothing."

He was a bit disbelieving, but didn't press the matter any further. "Where were you during the reunion, then?"

"I walked there with Fuji," he said tearfully. "He—he was so excited about getting to see everyone again. We go to the same university—we're roommates. We never keep secrets from each other."

The sentences seemed detached, scrambled, but Oshitari stayed silent.

"When we got there, Fuji was all over the place, talking to people. Me too, I guess. I lost track of time a bit, and of _course _when I found Oishi, I just kind of forgot about stuff. We were talking about middle school and high school, but then Atobe said Niou was dead, and . . . It's so sad," he wailed, and his bouncy red hair seemed to droop a bit in response.

"Were you previously acquainted with him?"

"Niou? No," Eiji said. "I played a match against him when I was fourteen, I think. Fuji was friends with him, though."

"I heard."

"From who? What'd you hear?" Eiji demanded.

Oshitari was startled. "From Momoshiro. I'd heard that Fuji was Niou's psychiatrist."

"He was. They were friends. That's it," he said fiercely, and kept his moody attitude for the rest of the interrogation.

**--- **

"I apologize if my former classmates and teammates have been a nuisance," were the first words out of Tezuka's mouth.

Oshitari smiled, relieved to have someone mildly normal to talk to. "It's fine. They provided some interesting information."

Tezuka visibly stiffened. "I see."

"Eiji was acting rather strange," he mused. "Did something happen with Fuji that day?"

"I wouldn't know," Tezuka replied calmly. "I did speak to Fuji—for the majority of the gathering. Several people came to greet us, but I never held a lengthy conversation with any of them. I did not speak to Niou."

"Did Fuji?"

"He did. I do not know what they talked about, but I assume it was something about Fuji's work."

Back to laconic, then. "Tell me," Oshitari said, slowly—deliberately, "do you believe Fuji could have been a part of this murder?"

Tezuka's expression darkened. "I do not appreciate what you are insinuating about my teammates, Oshitari. Fuji is not a murderer."

"I didn't say he was," he replied. "I asked if he could have been a part of it. He is as likely to be a witness as he is a murderer. But what do you think?"

"You're testing me," Tezuka said. His eyes glinted, and his pupils didn't dilate when he added, "I know absolutely nothing about the murder at Atobe's reunion. I did not speak to Niou, was not acquainted with him, and as far as I'm concerned, neither was Fuji."

**--- **

Fuji's smile was rather eerie as he entered the room. "You must have heard some interesting things about me," he said sweetly.

"Would you deny them?"

"I might, I might not." He seemed amused. "You see, this is all very baffling. You must have had a horrific time interrogating all these people. As an investigator, you can't really force people to tell you the truth. It's awfully hard to tell lies from truth, isn't it, Oshitari?" He leaned forward in his seat and smiled.

"You seem to be enjoying this," he murmured, "for someone who's suspected by two of his teammates."

"Am I, now? Then let me ask: Do _you _suspect me?"

"I think I ought to."

He leaned back again. "Then suspect me. As a matter of fact, I am enjoying this. Niou's death was unfortunate—he was quite a gifted individual, and had a curious way of thinking. I will miss him, I think. But this process—" He gestured to the papers scattered on Oshitari's desk. "This process, of finding the murderer—I think it'll prove to be fairly entertaining."

"Are you really so indifferent to this?"

"Of course not. Niou and I were close." His eyes flashed open for a moment. "I don't believe he has ever directly wronged anyone."

"But indirectly?"

"He was that sort of person." The tension faded, and Fuji went back to his friendly smile. "Isn't it sinister, Oshitari, that the murderer could be anyone? Anyone at all? From his best friend, to my best friend . . . to _your _best friend."

"Gakuto?" he asked, astonished. "Gakuto isn't a murderer."

"But he's changed, hasn't he?"

"He went to France for several years, of course he's changed," Oshitari replied defensively.

Yes, Fuji was definitely enjoying this, the sadistic son of a— "Think about it, Oshitari. Mukahi used to be so cheery and reckless. I take note of people's personalities, their traits. Don't you think Mukahi's more calculating now? Quieter. The murderers are usually the quiet ones, anyway."

"You're being outrageous," Oshitari retorted.

"Perhaps it was just the strangeness of being back in Japan," Fuji concluded. "He could go back to being chirpy at any time. Once he's settled in, he'll go back to being your feisty Mukahi Gakuto." He bared his teeth in a smile. "He can switch personas at any time, but the secrets will remain the same."

"What secrets?"

"I don't know," he said, still smiling. "That's why they're called secrets."

"Gakuto isn't keeping anything from me. You're doing this on purpose, and you're not answering my questions."

"You didn't ask any," Fuji pointed out. He stood. "Really, Oshitari. You've no right to question and suspect _my _teammates when you can't get over the bias toward yours. As it is, you'll never solve the case. Anybody could have been the murderer—including Gakuto. In fact, he's as likely to be the murderer as you are, seeing how Niou was such a fan of Hyotei."

Before Oshitari could ask what he meant, the brunet was gone.

* * *

If you didn't know, when someone's pupils dilate, it means he or she is lying.


	5. Allay

So, as it says on my profile, the modeling agency's giving me a break and I have no tests on the upcoming Monday (for once) which is definitely something to celebrate. As of now, my week is going to be test-free! (As of now.) Also, you guys have really been encouraging in your reviews about my temporary leave, and I just couldn't bear to leave the story at that. I did promise fluff, after all. Hence the update. As always, thanks to Shibataea for editing this. Enjoy.

* * *

Hiyoshi walked in the office. "I come in peace, bearing gifts. Pick one."

Oshitari looked up, exhausted. In one hand, Hiyoshi held a mug of black coffee. In the other, he held a bottle of aspirin. "Can I have both?"

"I could mix the aspirin in with the coffee and let it dissolve," Hiyoshi offered. "But I'm not sure if that's safe. You might die." He paused. "Yeah, maybe not." He handed both over. "Here. So how'd the Seigaku interrogations go yesterday?"

"They weren't very helpful."

"I figured out _that _much from your face."

"Thanks," Oshitari replied, glaring up at him. Hiyoshi didn't seem apologetic in the least, instead gesturing for him to continue. "Fuji said some . . . confusing things. Do you know if Niou had any contact with Hyotei?"

Hiyoshi nodded. "I knew him, somewhat. Niou and I used to take similar routes home, and we'd usually hold a brief conversation or two. He invited me out sometimes, but it wasn't often. I don't know if he spoke to anybody else from Hyotei, though." He paused. "Do I even count?"

"Not really," Oshitari admitted. "But if he spoke to you, surely he must have had some interest in Hyotei. I can't imagine what."

Hiyoshi shrugged. "I doubt it," he said. "It was just polite conversation. And besides, I'm pretty sure Niou liked to observe people. That might have been all he was doing."

Oshitari sighed. "Then that doesn't get us any farther than we were to begin with."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. The coffee and aspirin make up for it."

Hiyoshi fell silent for a moment, then murmured, "Are you interrogating Hyotei next? They won't be too keen on that. It's not like I care, but . . ."

"They'll have to deal with it. Atobe will understand—Jiroh and Kabaji won't mind. Neither will Choutaro. It's just Shishido, in the end, but Choutaro will be there to appease him," Oshitari reasoned.

"What about Mukahi-san?"

"What do you mean?"

"Won't he be upset?" Hiyoshi pressed.

"Why would he be?"

"You know why." He seemed exasperated. "The whole lack of trust thing. And Mukahi-san always was pretty touchy."

"He'll be fine with it," Oshitari said dismissively. "I'm sure he understands it's routine."

"I don't know," Hiyoshi replied, doubtful. "It's been a pretty long time . . . But I guess you know him better than I do."

"I think I should conduct the Hyotei interrogations sometime next week," Oshitari began. "It'll be enough time for me to get the rest of the data and notes in order, and as such, the Hyotei interrogations will be much less tedious."

"But it's only Tuesday; isn't a week a bit too long? You don't need a week to sort out information, Oshitari-san. You're putting things off."

"No."

"Yes."

"Maybe," Oshitari conceded. "I just . . . need to organize things."

"You're never disorganized."

Oshitari gestured wryly to his desk, littered with papers and notepads. Before Hiyoshi could reply, Oshitari's cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

"_Oshitari? This is Fuji. I'd like to speak to you—today, if possible."_

"That'd be fine," he responded, slightly confused. "Come to my office then, at one."

"_I'd rather not,_" came the prompt reply. _"Would the new French café be alright? Camille's, I believe?"_

"Fine," Oshitari said. He was about to add more, but ever-cryptic, Fuji hung up.

"Who was that?" Hiyoshi asked.

Oshitari looked up. "Fuji. He wishes to speak with me."

"Maybe he'll actually tell you something this time," Hiyoshi said, sounding condescending. "If he knows something, he should spill it. Causing trouble for no reason . . . it's so like him."

Oshitari murmured agreement. "Though I can't imagine what he'd want to say to me. It must be in regards to the case—but if he were to say something, why wouldn't he say it yesterday?"

Hiyoshi shrugged again. "Who knows? He's supposed to be a genius, right? Must have a plan or something."

"And that," Oshitari mused, "is exactly what I'm afraid of."

**--- **

Fuji was sitting at a small table for two, sipping tea and smiling up at him brightly. "Hello, Oshitari."

"Fuji," he greeted, and sat. "Why did you want to meet here?"

"Your office is much too dreary," he answered. "You should get it remodeled."

Oshitari frowned. "You say that, Hiyoshi says that, my colleagues say that . . . I don't see how it's dreary, or morbid. It's a perfectly fine office. Simple."

"'Morbid,'" Fuji repeated, looking thoughtful. "Is that the word Hiyoshi-kun used for it?" He nodded to himself. "It's a good word. Describes your office perfectly."

"Does it?" he asked, exasperated. "If you say so. So why did you want to see me?"

Fuji leaned forward in anticipation. "Have you discovered who the murderer is?"

"No, I haven't. I've yet to speak to Hyotei, as a matter of fact, and the notes I've taken are scattered all over my office. I'm afraid I won't be coming to a conclusion until some time later—if I ever do. It's a very strange case."

"Don't be discouraged," Fuji said amiably. "You're a genius, after all."

"So are you."

"I am," he agreed. "But you have the advantage. I only have my own experience to go on, whereas you have the information of RikkaiDai and Seigaku to use freely."

"You talk about it like it's a game."

His smile widened. "Because it is."

"Niou was _killed. _It's not a game if someone's life was at stake."

"You sound so moral," he said dismissively. "Morality is uninteresting. And I never specified the game, now did I? You asked me for information yesterday, and I'm offering it to you now."

"Well?"

"Saa . . . Oshitari, have you ever played Russian roulette?"

**--- **

Oshitari stared at his phone, indecisive. He was back in his office—it was almost eight PM, and he was preparing to leave for night school. Another part of his routine, another habitual task, something with no meaning. He could afford to miss one day, and he wasn't in the mood to listen to a lecture at the moment, not after what Fuji had told him—or rather, what Fuji hadn't told him.

What did Russian roulette have to do with anything?

"It's not fun if I give it away," he'd replied teasingly.

Because obviously, it was completely fun to give Oshitari another headache, while letting the murderer slip away.

_I need a moment away from all of this, _he decided. _Just one. Just tonight._

He went back to staring at his phone. Gakuto—surely he wouldn't be busy? He was in Tokyo for vacation, after all.

Perhaps he ought to call Gakuto first; invite him out. Or not. It'd only been a week or so since their last encounter, after all, and he'd seem clingy.

But Gakuto had been the one to invite him out the first time.

_He never minded before._

_It could have just been an act of politeness._

_He might be waiting for me to call._

_Why am I even worrying about this? _He and Gakuto used to walk home together daily, used to spend their weekends and vacations together. It was just Gakuto. Just Gakuto. Always Gakuto.

He glanced at his phone again, and his resolve vanished.

It'd be foolish to wait until Gakuto called him out again, he decided—he'd done so once, and Oshitari had ruined it. It was only right for Oshitari to call this time, surely. Courtesy. Proper courtesy. That's all it was.

He dialed the number and called quickly, before he could change his mind.

Gakuto answered after the first ring. "Hey, Yuushi. What's up?" he asked quickly, sounding rushed. Oshitari wondered if he was busy doing something.

"Are you busy?"

"What, no greeting? No, I'm not busy; why?"

To go with the safest option . . . "It's been a long time; I thought we could catch up," Oshitari said.

**-**

"_I thought I'd wait for you. You know, it's been a long time and all, and I figured we could catch up or something."_

**-**

He thought he could hear Gakuto smiling when the redhead replied, "One whole week. Sure, Yuushi. Do you have anyplace in mind?"

"Not in particular."

"Then I get to choose. But . . . don't you have school?"

"I don't feel like going today. I know most of the material."

"That's so like you, Yuushi. Then I'll see you at seven-thirty?" He sounded hopeful. "By the bakery near the police station."

"See you then." For some reason, Oshitari breathed a sigh of gratitude when he hung up the phone.

**--- **

The streets were dark and deserted—it was seven, after all, and a December night at that. November had ended only a day ago, and the winter chill had finally taken hold of Tokyo. Sidewalk lights lit the night, replacing the barely-visible stars.

_Straight from a movie, _Oshitari thought.

Gakuto was punctual, for once. He stood outside the bakery, leaning against the store window, and wearing a simple jacket and jeans. He was slouched, looking much more casual than when Oshitari had last seen him. He suddenly wondered if he was overdressed—he'd opted for a dress shirt instead, and looked more like he was going to work than going out with a friend. Before he got the chance to think it through, Gakuto caught sight of him and walked over.

"You're two minutes late," Gakuto informed him, sounding very serious. "That's not like you." Then he cracked a grin and punched him in the arm. "Getting lazy, aren't we, Yuushi?"

"Possibly," he replied, relieved. "Time's not really an issue when you're an investigator."

"Lucky you. It must be fun; I think you would've been way more suited to this lawyer stuff than I am."

"It's not fun, not at all. But that's why it's called work, right? Anyway, I was going to suggest we play tennis, but you look kind of tired, so we'll just warm up or something."

"Warm up?" Oshitari repeated.

Gakuto shrugged. "Metaphorically speaking, sort of. I thought we'd go for a walk. Do hot shot detectives get to go for walks?"

"Do they get to go with their hot shot lawyer friends?"

The night was dim; Oshitari couldn't see Gakuto's expression when he said, rather softly, "You bet."

"Then yes, they go for walks."

With that, they left.

**--- **

It'd been an alright night, but an extremely quiet one. Oshitari had already forgotten what it'd been like when he walked home with Gakuto back in middle and high school, but they must have had more to talk about back then. He vaguely recalled complaining about Atobe and Shishido, but not much else. Was that all they ever talked about? Surely not.

But as it was, Oshitari had no idea what to say. They hardly seemed to have anything in common anymore—well. That wasn't true. If anything, Gakuto had _more _in common with him now, what with his new attitude and ethics. Given, he seemed more relaxed than before, but still, it was different.

_Maybe I'm just being picky. _

But in the end, there wasn't anything for them to talk about. The case, maybe? But neither of them wanted to discuss murder in the shady, abandoned streets of Tokyo.

—They wouldn't have wanted to discuss murder, anyway.

"So, how's college?"

It took Oshitari a few moments to realize Gakuto was talking to him, and that he was required to give a response. "It's okay, though not very interesting. What about you? Don't you have school around now?"

Gakuto shook his head. "It's different in France. I'm on vacation." He smiled. "And I figured I'd better come back before you guys forget all about me."

"We wouldn't," Oshitari insisted, casting a glance at the lawyer, who chose that moment to look away.

"Hey, things change."

They lapsed back into an awkward silence. Then:

"You're too tense."

The words came out of nowhere, but they were spoken with such a sense of confidence than he couldn't bring himself to protest. Instead Oshitari stared at the feisty redhead, who had his hand on his hip. He was suddenly smiling smugly, and looked nothing like the uptight lawyer he'd been acting like for the past week, past day, past hour.

"You're too tense," he repeated. "So we're going to loosen you up a bit."

"'We'?" Oshitari inquired, arching an eyebrow.

Gakuto shrugged. "Well, yeah. I'm not going to a club by myself. And besides, you don't seem that tired anymore. Just lazy." His eyes shone with expectancy. "You've been so dreary lately; dancing will do you some good." He laughed. "I've been pretty dreary, too. And it's been a really long time since I've been to a club."

"A club?"

"What, did you forget how to talk for yourself or something?" The grin widened, and in that moment, Mukahi Gakuto was every bit of the lively teenager that'd left Japan, every bit of the lively teenager he'd missed. "We're going dancing. There's this hot new club downtown, and I've been dying to check it out."

"You don't strike me as the type to go to a club." He berated himself the instant he said those words. _Isn't this what you wanted? _he asked silently. _Isn't this the Gakuto you've been looking for?_

Gakuto shrugged it off. "You make it sound like I'm two hundred years old," he snorted, and began walking, leaving Oshitari with no choice but to follow. "I don't get how being an adult is that much different from being a kid." He whipped around and fixed Oshitari with a tense, vivid stare. "We're not fourteen anymore, and we'll never be fourteen again, but seven years can only do so much. I'm still Gakuto. You're still Yuushi. I'm not saying it again, got it?" With that, he began walking again, his short legs keeping a surprisingly fast pace.

They were now in a part of Tokyo that Oshitari didn't recognize. It was every bit as lively as the central area (at daytime, anyway), but a different type of lively—unprofessional, in a way. It wasn't bustling with businessmen and socialites. The people there were laughing, carefree, holding drinks and chatting. Some wandered around, others remained fixed, waiting for friends. No, these weren't the businessmen and socialites Oshitari saw everyday on his way to work.

These were just . . . people.

He realized now that most of them were gathered around a large, dimly lit building. It was a modernized glass dome, looking every bit as flashy as Atobe's hotel—cruder, somehow, but eye-catching. "Is this the club?" he asked.

Gakuto nodded. "Yeah, it's called Katwalk. I heard it's from this chain of these really popular American and European clubs. I've never been there, but almost everybody else has. Even Jiroh, actually. He was raving about how awesome the songs were, and how the drinks there were—and I quote, "super-tastic." And he's not even the type to go to a club, so that's got to be saying something, right?"

"It's European," Oshitari echoed, a tad disconcerted. Seven years could only do so much to a person—but surely it was still enough to change someone for good. Gakuto, however, didn't seem worried in the least.

"I know you don't like foreign stuff," he replied, "but this club won't be that different from the ones in Japan." He smiled mischievously. "Besides, it's not like you've ever been to a Japanese club, so you won't know the difference, right?"

"You'd be surprised," the detective said, remembering Gakuto's words from their first meeting in three years. The redhead had sounded so cryptic when he'd said it, and Oshitari couldn't help but wonder how someone could alternate so drastically between personalities in such short periods of time.

"Don't be a spoilsport, Yuushi." Then Gakuto laughed, actually tossed his head back and _laughed, _and Oshitari's heart began to beat just a little faster. This was him—this was Gakuto. "Come on, this'll be fun."

They entered the club after presenting their IDs, and instantly, overpowering rock music filled their ears. Oshitari grimaced—this was what he hated about clubs. He'd only been to a few in his life, and he couldn't say any of those experiences had been positive ones. Clubs reminded him of the reek of alcohol, the drunken, staggered movement of the underage, the promiscuous behavior of people without shame—everything opposite to the life he was used to.

But Gakuto seemed positively ecstatic, and Oshitari couldn't bring himself to ruin his companion's good mood. "Let's get a seat," he said hurriedly, and dragged Oshitari to the bar. "Look, there are two, right there! This is perfect."

Oshitari smiled weakly and took a seat next to him. The bartender sidled up to them, propped his head on an arm, and smiled enticingly at Gakuto.

Almost unknowingly, Oshitari scowled.

"Hello, young lady," the bartender greeted, and gave a Cheshire cat grin. "How may I help you today?"

Gakuto groaned. "See, Yuushi? This is what I mean—mistaken for a girl every other freaking day."

"He's a guy," Oshitari clarified, and the bartender recoiled instantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," he stammered. "I—uh—Kazu will be serving you today. I—excuse me."

He backed away, but Gakuto managed a "Next time you hit on someone, try inviting her—or him—out for a drink or something!" before he got out of earshot. To Oshitari, he said, "They're all the same. It's crazy."

"I found it rather amusing," Oshitari admitted. Gakuto gave him a light punch on the arm.

"Jerk," he mumbled. "You're the same as always, Yuushi. Sometimes I think you're too much like that Fuji guy for your own good."

"Don't remind me of Fuji." Between the baffling case and the pounding music, Oshitari's headache was getting bigger by the second. "I think he knows something, but he won't say anything, and neither will Tezuka, and then there's Eiji—"

"Stop," Gakuto ordered. "Sorry for reminding you, but don't think about the case today. Just—forget everything for a while. Forget the case, forget Fuji. Tonight, it's just us."

**-**

"_From his best friend, to my best friend . . . to _your _best friend."_

**-**

Gakuto spread his arms and gestured to the lively crowd of dancers. "Have fun, and forget. That's why they have music, and that's why they have drinks." He grinned at the new bartender. "Don't mistake me for a girl like your friend did, 'kay?"

"I'm sorry about Kiyo," Kazu apologized. "He's too flirty to be working at a place like this. How can I help you both today?"

"I'll have the orange martini," Gakuto said, staring at the enormous list of drinks in front of him. Upon noticing Oshitari's silence, he added, "He'll have the same."

"I don't think that's a good idea—" Oshitari began to protest, but Gakuto cut him off.

"We're here to have fun, remember?" Then he chuckled, and gave a wicked grin. "Of course, you're not going to remember much after tonight."

_That doesn't sound good, _Oshitari thought in dismay, but the bartender had already begun to pour the drinks.

Gakuto downed his in a swig. "Want to have a race?"

Oshitari grimaced at the strong-smelling liquid placed before him. "I think I'll pass. Could I save this for later, maybe?"

"But you're not going to," Gakuto said, frowning. "You're going to strategically stuff it somewhere, and I'm going to forget you had it, and then you're never going to try an orange martini and I'll feel guilty."

"That's rather warped logic," he commented. "You sound like a teen again."

"I'll prove to you that there's always someone higher than you," Gakuto recited in a squeaky voice, and laughed again. "I miss it. Tennis, I mean. Have you played at all, recently?"

Oshitari shook his head. "I stopped in once we went to college. There was no point anymore—everybody was separated, and doubles . . ." He trailed off, and Gakuto frowned again.

"This conversation is getting depressing," he decided. "Let's dance instead."

The investigator looked up, startled by the sudden change in conversation. "Dance?"

"Yeah, let's go," he said, pulling Oshitari by the arm and pausing in the middle of the dance floor. "Remember that time we snuck out in our freshman year at high school?"

"I believe so," Oshitari said slowly, trying to recall.

He began dancing, moving his arms and shuffling his feet, while Oshitari stood stiffly, watching. "And we were trying to get into the club, and the bouncer wouldn't let us in, so we borrowed these seniors' IDs . . . And the bouncer didn't even notice that we were the same people he saw fifteen minutes ago." He snapped his fingers, and a man instantly came over, handing him a drink. Oshitari made a vague connection to Atobe.

And then Gakuto was dancing with a drink in one hand, while his other hand was running through his hair. A few clubbers stopped to look at him, and he grinned at the attention. Oshitari had forgotten how well Gakuto could dance; it always used to amaze him how he managed to dance for hours without break, whereas in tennis, he lost stamina after a one set match. It could have just been the excessive jumping, of course—but the way he looked so at ease on the dance floor told him it couldn't have been just that.

He wasn't complaining—it was the club that had brought Gakuto back.

Then someone bumped into him and knocked Oshitari out of his trance. He glanced away, not wanting to be caught staring (though it was probably too late by then).

The music picked up a little, and Gakuto moved a bit faster. "Dance with me," he breathed, and grabbed his hand.

At first, there was nothing but awkward movement. Oshitari had never liked dancing himself, and part of him resented being forced to dance in front of so many people. He'd never been shy—but revealing one's gaucheness to a judgmental group of skilled dancers didn't seem very appealing.

But then Gakuto pulled him a little closer, and Oshitari gripped his hands a bit tighter, and before he knew it, he was dancing.


	6. Vulnerable

Because ceru inadverdantly made me feel guilty. I really should thank her (thanks!), because otherwise I would never have gotten this done, haha. Also, I'm going to start using "Yuushi" instead of "Oshitari" from now on. "Yuushi" suits him more, I think.

Just a note: If anyone's interested in an image of the gun I'd imagined Niou to have, search up "mother of pearl pistol" on Google Images. All the images that show up with a mother of pearl handle can suffice. (I spent a full hour debating over whether a revolver or a handgun was cooler, and I can proudly say that most of my friends are now either scared of me, or think I'm a bit weird in the head.)

* * *

"_Hey, this is Mukahi Gakuto. Uh, I'm not picking up right now so leave a message after the beep." _

Yuushi sighed and hung up again. He reached for his glasses, for the little red cloth he always cleaned them with. Twice a day—once in the morning, once in the evening.

Gakuto was avoiding him.

_Doesn't take a genius to figure that out, _he decided, a bit wryly. But what had happened last night that'd made Gakuto do this? As far as he could recall (for as Gakuto was true to his word, Yuushi'd had a bit of trouble remembering after all the alcohol), they'd danced, then Gakuto had asked to leave.

"Why?" he remembered asking, slightly breathless. It'd been such a long time since he'd done anything requiring physical strain, after all. Or maybe it'd been the loud music, the reek of alcohol, the sight of Gakuto's face, so close, so close to his.

"I'm not feeling so great," Gakuto mumbled. His hair covered his face, and his dark blue eyes were downcast. "It's getting late, anyway."

So they'd left. Nothing had happened, not really. Yuushi frowned in irritation. Gakuto was the one who had suggested visiting a club. And now—?

He didn't even remembering why he'd decided to call Gakuto, but it didn't matter much, anymore. Gakuto wasn't picking up.

His phone could have just been turned off.

He might not have heard the ringtone.

He might still have been asleep.

He could have lost his phone.

He might have been _killed. _

Yuushi's head shot up at that realization. _Oh God, he's dead. It's my fault, I invited him out, if he'd stayed home then the murderer wouldn't have followed him, I killed him, I killed him . . . _

His phone buzzed, alerting him of a text message.

_Mukahi Gakuto_: Morning, Yuushi. Hung over?

A smiley face accompanied the statement, and Yuushi smirked. It was so like him to bring that up.

Suddenly, he felt silly for going to such crazy conclusions. He was a detective, meant to be calm, cool, level-headed and even. But it was difficult to remember what it was like to be calm, to be cool and level-headed around Gakuto.

And it was all too easy to remember the overwhelming sensation of dancing with him. Yuushi wished the night had lasted longer. He wished the dance had lasted longer. Yet there were only sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, and twelve hours in a night. Too late, too late.

Too late for a lot of things.

**--- **

Yuushi had been aware of the funeral—Niou's funeral—for some time now, but had never thought of going. It was Hiyoshi who persuaded him in the end.

"It's a good way to see people's reactions," his colleague pointed out. "Won't it help you in your detective work and stuff?"

Yuushi had to admit, he had a point.

So there they stood, handed folded before them and dressed in dark suits. There was an enormous amount of people at the funeral, but it was eerily quiet. Yuushi took the opportunity to look over the crowd. The RikkaiDai graduates were gathered near Niou's family, looking particularly devastated. Yagyuu was a little off to the side, dazed. Seigaku seemed mournful, but much less so; however, Fuji in particular looked grim. Eiji was fidgeting nervously, darting suspicious glances left and right.

As for Hyotei . . . Well. Choutaro appeared stricken, as did Shishido, though Yuushi noticed that the latter kept sneaking looks at his companion. Atobe, naturally, had come with two butlers, a set of body guards, and three maids, and appeared almost indifferent, Kabaji likewise. Jiroh was awake for once, and frowning. Gakuto stood beside him, whispering something darkly.

Hiyoshi had taken off his policeman's hat, for once, and had his eyes closed, mumbling prayers for Niou under his breath. Yuushi felt a stab of pity—it wasn't easy for Hiyoshi to get attached for someone, and he imagined that he must have been quite fond of Niou.

The funeral itself was an odd mix of traditional and Western. Friends and family members were dressed in the customary pitch-black suit and tie, and the condolence money had been collected. On another note, there was a Western priest as opposed to a Buddhist one, and he was currently uttering words in English, words Yuushi doubted anyone at the funeral understood. The casket was opened, and Niou's pale, ghostly face matched the glaring silver of his hair.

Niou's father was the only family member to speak; the women of the family seemed barely able to stand.

Yukimura and Marui each spoke a little about their experiences as teammates, about how Niou was a talented individual and how he was meant to accomplish great things. However, there was a look of dissatisfaction in both their eyes, and Yuushi suspected they'd wanted to say something more.

Yagyuu's speech was short, to the point, stating that Niou would be missed, that he went through life as only he could, and, in a darker voice, that the murderer must be caught. Yuushi knew those words were directed at him, and met Yagyuu's stare evenly.

The priest asked if anybody wanted to say a few words before the funeral came to a conclusion, but everybody remained silent.

"It's unfortunate; the Niou family has lost both sons. Don't you want to give a speech?" Yuushi murmured to Hiyoshi, who was standing stiffly the entire time, his miserable gaze never leaving Niou's coffin.

Hiyoshi shook his head. "I wasn't that close to him," he whispered back, sounding deceptively casual.

The detective let the matter drop and focused back in on the funeral. Niou's family and the RikkaiDai members were carrying his coffin—now closed—and putting it into the grave dug. Niou's sister had turned away, her eyes puffy and red. Marui glanced at her, distressed.

Niou's father placed several white paper cut-outs on the coffin; Niou's former teammates each placed a small white carnation and a photograph on it, per the actor's request.

The funeral ended quickly. People were forced to push back the reporters, clamoring for a photo or a statement. Yuushi wondered why Niou had wished for a private funeral instead of a public one—he always did seem like the type to want attention. Was it sentimentality, perhaps? Or maybe he simply didn't want to be in the public eye all the time. Maybe he appreciated the conventionalism of a private funeral; maybe it'd been decided by a coin-toss.

_Nobody really knew him, in the end, _Yuushi mused.

"You're Niou-sama's manager! Please, you _have _to answer my questions!" a reporter was exclaiming, and all of a sudden, paparazzi were crowding around Yagyuu while calling out questions, each louder than the previous.

Yagyuu snapped, with uncharacteristic venom and impertinence, "I will do no such thing, and I demand you leave at once."

Following his example, the other players began retorting. Nobody was in a particularly good mood after the funeral—that said, most of their tempers were short to begin with.

"Get out of my way, or ore-sama shall sue you until you're homeless."

"Man, you guys have no lives if all you do is follow us around. Lame!"

"You can't even _begin _to list the amount of blackmail I have on you. I suggest you leave before I announce it to the nation."

"Would you like to try my Inui Juice? Taste unadjusted, of course. Let's see now; we have the Special Golden Inui Juice Remix, the Blue Vinegar Version Two, the . . ."

"You do realize that I can kill you with my bare hands, about five different ways?"

"Tell your viewers they can go screw themselves."

"Not following my warning? Very well; you had an affair with the mayor at age sixteen, two timed him with the president of Hallen Corp, had to start working because you failed to complete high school, your father disowned you when he found out about your disgraces, your current fiancé is actually one of the leaders of a Tokyo gang. . ." Fuji was counting off his fingers, looking delighted. The reporter was turning redder by the second, and was barking orders at the cameraman to stop recording.

One hiss was all it took for Kaidoh to scare off the paparazzi. Similarly, Akaya pulled out an ever-present tennis ball and a random twig, and began handing out Knuckle Serves and black eyes. Yuushi took one look at the chaotic scene, chuckled, and made to leave.

"Wait," a reporter pleaded, catching up to him. "You're the one who's on the case, aren't you? Just one statement, please."

Yuushi was tempted to say, "No comment," or something as badass as the ones his friends were saying, but settled for smiling archaically before turning away.

**--- **

"Russian roulette," Yuushi murmured to himself, fiddling with Niou's pistol. There were no fingerprints on it at all; he assumed the murderer had wiped it clean before leaving.

Of course. It wasn't a crime committed by a simpleton. He scolded himself for thinking any less of the killer.

Honestly, he almost admired the murderer. It had to take gumption to commit a crime at a party, where all his friends and acquaintances were present. It had to take gumption to kill Niou Masaharu in general; he was a flashy, intimidating man, and Yuushi doubted anyone else present at the party could hold a candle to the charisma the late actor had.

An unfortunate loss, it was.

Yuushi had done some research online. It was Hiyoshi who brought it up, Hiyoshi who noted that the pistol was a _revolver. _"And there're no bullets left," he added. "Maybe Russian roulette?"

Needless to say, he was rather startled when Yuushi jumped up in surprise, grabbed the gun, and dashed toward his computer.

Russian roulette. It was a game, supposed to have originated in Russia—but Yuushi wasn't all too sure about that. In any case, it was played with at least two people, though typically six, as well as one revolver, one cylinder, and one bullet.

The revolver held one bullet, only one, because only one person was meant to be killed.

The cylinder, holding one bullet, was meant to be spun, and whomever it pointed to had to take the gun and aim it at himself. If it so happened that he'd had an empty slot when he shot, then he was lucky. If he wasn't lucky . . .

If he wasn't lucky, then he was a dead man.

The game explained much, actually. It explained why Niou seemed completely prepared for his death, why the revolver he'd been holding contained no bullets.

Hiyoshi had brought him the gun with which Niou was killed at Yuushi's request, and as he turned it over now, he noted a slightly worn spot on the cylinder, probably where it'd been spun. It all added up, then.

But why would Niou go along with it? He wasn't the sort to be blackmailed, to be forced into anything. He must have agreed to it.

And how exactly did Fuji know about it? It couldn't have been because he was the murderer, surely—he wouldn't have given himself away. Fuji was clever; he wouldn't have done anything rash.

Then again, if he did know something (which was extremely likely), why did he refuse to elaborate?

_Typical of Fuji, _he thought, rankled.

**--- **

Yuushi was sorting through his notes when Hiyoshi entered. "No gifts this time?"

"Interrogations again?" Hiyoshi asked sympathetically. "That's too bad. There were almost thirty people at that party, you know."

"I _know,_" Yuushi said. Pastime

"Who are you starting with? Not Atobe, I hope?" Hiyoshi cringed at the thought.

Yuushi gave an amused chuckle. "I'm not foolish enough for that. No, Gakuto is first."

Hiyoshi frowned at him. "Mukahi-san? I don't know . . ."

Two rapid knocks followed his comments immediately. "Hey, Yuushi. Can I come in?"

At Yuushi's nod, Hiyoshi opened the door and gave his former senior a friendly smile. Gakuto stared, surprised. "Hey, Hiyoshi. Didn't know you were here."

"He usually is," Yuushi commented. Gakuto's mouth twitched downwards, but he refrained from commenting. "Shall we get started, then?"

"May as well," Gakuto replied, and sat abruptly. "So. My name's Mukahi Gakuto, I was born in Tokyo, Japan, and my parents are—"

Yuushi began to laugh. "Not like that. I'll ask a few questions, and you answer. That's it."

Gakuto folded his arms. "That's boring. But I guess it's not really a big deal; it's just us, right?"

Yuushi nodded in the affirmative before asking, "Where were you on the day of the reunion?"

"I went straight there. Unless you mean before that—then I stayed at my hotel all day, listening to music." He smiled faintly. "Wieniawski, Polonaise Brilliante, for the violin."

There was a hint of a frown on Yuushi's face as he jotted down the notes—Gakuto didn't have a proper alibi. "And what'd you do there?" he inquired. "Who did you speak to?"

"I don't really remember," Gakuto admitted. "I wasn't really early, but I wasn't late either; I think I saw Ohtori and Shishido first. Then I started talking to Eiji from Seigaku—did you know he's a dancer? I can dance _so _much better than him—but anyway, after that, I went to the bathroom to fix my suit. That acrobat spilled _wine _all over me! I'm lucky Atobe had a spare," he fumed. "And then I just looked for Hyotei people. I'm pretty sure I talked to everyone from Hyotei at least once, and a few people from Seigaku and RikkaiDai. Niou, too. And then I saw you, and yeah."

Yuushi nodded briefly. "Did you know Niou personally? What was your impression of him?"

Gakuto looked annoyed. "No, I didn't know him personally. I was in _France, _smart one. And besides, when I talked to him, it was just the typical 'how've you been since I saw you seven years ago?' stuff. As for the second question . . . I don't know. He seemed pretty sly if you ask me. Kind of rushed when I talked to him."

"Did you speak to Fuji?"

"Yes, I did. He was pretty affable." Gakuto tilted his head to one side. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

Yuushi gave a barely audible sigh. "Nothing. That's all. Thank you, Gakuto."

"Is something wrong?" Gakuto asked, worried. "You look really upset."

"No, it's fine. I'll escort you out," he offered, and stood. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew into the room, and his notes were scattered off the desk.

"What a draft," Gakuto commented, bending down to gather the papers. "This is the third floor, right? I heard the strongest winds are always higher up." He glanced at the files. "They're a mess. Do you want me to—" He broke off abruptly, his eyes widening and still fixed on the papers. "I . . ." He handed back the notes without meeting Yuushi's eyes. "Here."

Yuushi took them back and was about to put them away when he took note of the page Gakuto'd had accidentally seen.

_Mukahi Gakuto:_

_Confident, not at all apprehensive._

_Didn't arrive with anyone, wasn't at any particular spot prior; no alibi._

_Left the party abruptly for the restroom. No alibi._

_Claims his memory of the reunion is vague._

_Spoke to Fuji and Niou; Niou was in a hurry._

_Had no alibi as to his whereabouts prior to Niou's reunion._

**--- **

Silence loomed over them as they took the elevator downstairs. "So how's the case going?" Gakuto asked awkwardly.

"I'm not at a position to tell you," Yuushi replied, apologetic.

"Oh." Gakuto was quiet for a moment, then said, "But you can tell Hiyoshi, can't you?"

"Hiyoshi's working on the case with me."

"You'd tell him anyway."

"Excuse me?"

Gakuto shrugged. "Whatever, Yuushi. Stuff's different now, I get it. Tell me, don't tell me—it doesn't really matter." He looked up for a second. "Sorry you can't trust me."

Yuushi wasn't quite sure what to say to that, and Gakuto took that opportunity to disappear.


	7. Duet

At the end of this chapter, there's a scene in which a certain someone plays** _La Campanella, _by Liszt**. It's a gorgeous piece, and I recommend listening to it, especially while reading this. Same goes for _**Pachabel's Canon in D**. _For Pachabel's Canon, go for the one in violin, with a piano accompaniment.

Thanks to Shibataea for editing this, and happy New Year's Eve (or New Year's, depending on where you are)!

* * *

Yuushi had his eyes downcast, head cradled in his arms when Choutaro entered. The younger boy smiled warmly at him. "Are you alright, Oshitari-san?" he asked, bending down to examine his face closely. He placed the back of his hand against Yuushi's forehead. "I don't think you have a fever . . . maybe you shouldn't be working," he fretted. "You should tell your boss—no, I'll tell him if it's too much trouble for you—no, of _course _it's too much trouble for someone who's ill—I'll go immediately; don't you move. Oh, and would you like some water as well? Ah, I don't have any with me, but I'll go and fetch some . . . perhaps I should get the water and give it to you before I speak to your boss . . ."

Yuushi shook his head, grateful for Choutaro's concern, but a bit annoyed all the same. The earlier events of that day had been enough to put him into an unpleasant mood, and even he could hear the strain in his voice as he replied, "I'm fine, Ohtori. Have a seat."

"You don't look fine, Oshitari-san. Tell me what happened. Please?" He hesitated before adding, "Shishido-san is outside, so if you'd rather tell him . . ."

"Aren't you being a bit too persistent?" Yuushi asked, and shook his head again. "It's nothing. Gakuto was here earlier, and the interrogation didn't go very well."

The surprise on Choutaro's face was evident. "Oh, I see. But you needn't worry," he assured eagerly. "Mukahi-san throws fits like that. Surely it'll be over soon."

"He wasn't angry; he just seemed dismayed."

Choutaro frowned. "Well, that's a different matter. But he'll get over it soon, I believe. Maybe he was just in a bad mood to begin with."

_He wasn't, _Yuushi wanted to say, but didn't see the point in dragging the conversation out any further.

"I think it's the room," Choutaro continued. "It's dreary. Maybe that was what put Mukahi-san down."

"What is wrong with this room?" Yuushi demanded, exasperated. "It's a perfectly fine room."

"It's the mood," the designer explained. "You see, the plants never go _there; _they're always at least a foot away from the window. It provides a lighter tone. Also, the blinds don't go very well with the rest of the room. It's too modern, and it contrasts with the feel of the rest of your office. Besides, it makes your office look a bit like a jail cell. What else? Oh! Your desk shouldn't face the wall; like that; it's too restricting. You have such a roomy office; why not place it somewhere near the center?"

Yuushi held up a hand, looking defeated. "Alright. Someday, Ohtori, you may remodel the office for me."

Choutaro beamed. "Can I, really?"

Yuushi had to smile at his enthusiasm. "Of course. But we really must start on the interrogations now."

"Ah, I'm sorry, Oshitari-san," he said apologetically.

"It's fine. Now, where were you on the day of the reunion?"

"With Shishido-san," he replied. "We were having coffee—see, whenever we have to remodel a home, or when he's commissioned for something, we discuss it over coffee—and then we realized the reunion was that day, and we had to rush." He sounded sheepish. "It was my fault; Shishido-san is always so busy with work, and he usually depends on me to remind him. So we arrived late, I'm afraid."

"Earlier than me," Yuushi commented.

"Yes, Shishido-san told me. He was the first to greet you, wasn't he?" He smiled affectionately. "He's missed everybody."

"Let's move on, then. What did you do at the reunion, exactly?"

Choutaro's eyes darkened and Yuushi noticed an anxiety in them that hadn't been there before. Or perhaps he'd just been too tired to notice.

"I mostly stuck to Shishido-san, but then he found you, so I went to speak with a few other members of Hyotei. There was Kabaji-kun, and Taki-san, and M-Mukahi-san, and Hiyoshi-kun . . . And then Shishido-san suggested we talk to a few members of the other teams, so we did. Mostly Seigaku, though. Kikumaru-san seemed quite upset by something. We spoke to RikkaiDai, too; yes, Niou-san as well. He was—he was leisured, when I saw him. I left abruptly; I really wasn't feeling well. I think it might have been the sushi—maybe it was done poorly or something. . ." he rambled.

Yuushi arched an eyebrow. "And then?" he prompted.

Choutaro flushed and wrung his hands a bit. "I went to the restroom. And then I came back."

He seemed oddly uncomfortable, but Yuushi couldn't bring himself to press for further information. "Alright, then. And when exactly was this?"

"Exactly two o'clock; I remember checking my watch," he admitted.

"That was the estimated time of Niou's murder," Yuushi pointed out. Choutaro visibly flinched. "Are you certain you didn't see anything, anybody?"

"Nothing," Choutaro said shakily. "Really, I didn't see anything. I'm sorry."

"Do you know if anyone else was away from the party around then? Did you hear anything, at least? The restrooms were directly below the main room, and fairly isolated. You must have heard something."

"I heard footsteps," he replied slowly. "And I thought I heard someone talking, but it was too low for me to make anything out."

"I see," Yuushi murmured. He continued with the routine questions ("Did you know Niou? No? Well, what was your impression of him?"), and Choutaro answered them obligingly ("His death was tragic, he was wonderfully talented, I wish I knew him."), seeming all too relieved to get the whole time situation out of the way. Yuushi, however, wasn't nearly as calmed.

"_I heard footsteps. And I thought I heard someone talking, but it was too low for me to make anything out."_

_You shouldn't trust everything a detective says, _Yuushi mused. _Choutaro, Choutaro. The rooms were soundproof. _

**--- **

"Shishido," Yuushi greeted. "Have a seat."

Shishido stared him down for at least two minutes before sitting. He remained silent and folded his arms, not blinking.

Yuushi frowned. "You're awfully hostile. Is something the matter?"

"Choutaro was upset when he left," Shishido said at last. "Did you say something?"

"Just routine work," he replied, disconcerted but not surprised. Shishido noted this, and frowned as well. "I hope I didn't upset him—and if I did, it certainly wasn't intentional."

The architect's expression seemed weary as he said, "I know you wouldn't do it on purpose or anything. He's just been emotional about this whole thing, and I . . . don't know why." His voice was tight, and eyes narrowed slightly. "It's been a pretty difficult time for him, what with the family drama and all."

"Family drama?" Yuushi echoed.

"I think it's over with now, but it was something with his inheritance, with him keeping mixed company. Something like that." He was deliberately casual, but his eyes gave away a hint of distress.

"But it's over with now."

He sighed. "I guess it is. I don't know. It's unfair of me to ask." He gave Yuushi a look.

Yuushi smirked despite himself. "I won't pry. But it's good to see that you two are still such close friends."

Shishido relaxed a bit at this sudden change of topic. "Well, sure we are. We work together, after all. Geometry and design's always been pretty interesting, and Choutaro could have done anything. He didn't actually need to get a job to begin with. But I'm not complaining; it's great to have him around. He's pretty good at what he does, too."

"He is," Yuushi agreed. "He offered to remodel my office."

In one quick glance, Shishido surveyed the room and nodded. "I can see what he means. It's a gloomy room."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" he asked, honestly confused. "I've been using this office for at least a year now. It's never affected me before."

"Hey, some people can get used to anything," Shishido said, shrugging. "Especially you. If you can adapt to Gakuto's crazy tennis style, I don't know what you can't do."

"You would think so," Yuushi murmured, and pulled off his glasses. He reached for the little cloth sitting by the lamp and began to wipe them. "Perhaps we ought to start with the questions."

Shishido shrugged again. "Shoot."

"Where were you on the day of the reunion?"

"Coffee with Choutaro. Then we went to the reunion as planned. Nothing happened," he said firmly. "We didn't see any people on the way there—that is, anyone we knew. When we got there, I don't remember, but it was just socializing, talking. Hyotei, Seigaku, and RikkaiDai alike. I remember talking to _you, _though, because you arrived even later than Choutaro and I did."

"Thanks," Yuushi said dryly.

"Anyway, then Choutaro said he was going to lo—to the restroom, and I saw a few people, so we split up for a few seconds." He hesitated, then added, "I left the party for a few moments. I thought I saw someone walking upstairs, and I wanted to know what he was doing, so I followed, but after a few minutes I lost him, and I went back down."

"It was an honest but foolish sentiment."

"Thanks," Shishido mimicked. "Satisfied?"

"Who was the person you were looking for? To follow him for a few minutes, you must have at least seen the back of his head."

"I didn't see his face," Shishido insisted. "And the stairs were pretty dark, so I didn't see much. But the back of his head . . ." He paused, and something changed in his voice when he said, "I think it was Niou. He was in a white suit, so it must have been Niou. And his hair had a silver tint."

Shishido's pupils didn't dilate, but somehow, it didn't seem like the whole truth. Regardless, Yuushi didn't press the matter. "Thank you. What time would you say this was?"

"Two-ish?" he offered. "I don't know. It was halfway into the reunion, I think. So that's two-ish."

"It adds up," Yuushi agreed. "Would you say you knew Niou personally?"

He snorted. "No. I played tennis against him in high school ages ago, but I never had a conversation with him, if that's what you mean. Unless you count the party. But I thought he was a pretty crafty sort of guy, if you want to know. The type who could get away with anything. The murderer must have been pretty brave, pretty cunning," he said meaningfully.

"I suppose," Yuushi said slowly.

Shishido nodded resolutely, and the interrogation came to a conclusion.

**--- **

"Oh boy this is so much fun I can't wait to tell my brother and sister back home I've never been involved in a criminal investigation before and now I'm friends with a real detective and there was actually a real murder and I'm being interrogated!" Jiroh rambled, bouncing in his seat.

Yuushi cast a hopeful glance toward the door. It was too much to expect Hiyoshi to walk in with coffee and aspirin—the man wasn't psychic. But there was no harm in wishing. "It's good to see you're awake, Jiroh," he replied at last, massaging his temple. "How have you been?"

"I've been great!" Jiroh said enthusiastically. "The guy I'm interning for is really nice and he lets me sleep whenever I want, and he gives me two hour breaks so I can go out and buy Pocky and call Atobe and Gakuto and everybody!"

"You and Gakuto are still in touch?" he asked in surprise. "Even while he was in Europe?"

"Of course! Gakuto doesn't mind the long distance calling and neither do I, it's tons of fun and now that he's back in Japan we can hang out again!" he cheered. "Your office is so cool. It's really drab and dark and gloomy and dreary and morbid and depressing but it looks like it's straight out of one of those black and white detective movies and that makes it cool."

"That's wonderful, Jiroh," Yuushi tried, deciding to ignore the second half of Jiroh's speech. "Now, if we could get on with the interrogations . . ."

"This is so exciting!"

"Where were you on the day of the reunion?"

"I was working, and studying for my midterms, and then I realized I had a reunion to go to, so I panicked. But when I told everyone, the guy I'm interning for is really nice—he let his daughter drive me to the hotel! She's super nice and really pretty and she helps me with the work sometimes and—"

"And what did you do at the party?"

"Oh, mostly just looking for people. I was super excited, because everybody looked super old and it was all super fancy and everything was just splendiferous. I was talking to a bunch of people—I remember talking to Marui and Fuji, because they're so cool and I wanted to know if they still played tennis even though they didn't. I know Fuji-kun told me he was working as a psychiatrist—he's already so well-known, aren't you just so happy for him? Marui-kun didn't tell me what he was working as, but Yukimura Seiichi—who's also _super cool_!—told me Marui-kun is studying science and he's an intern at this amazing lab! And Yukimura-kun said he's studying botany in addition to playing tennis and that's just _so great_!"

"And then?" Yuushi prompted.

"I pretty much just talked to them the whole time, but then I found other cool people and they were all just really cool—I talked to everyone from Hyotei, definitely, but it doesn't really matter because I keep in touch with them anyway. I don't think I'd ever been so awake in my whole life!" He paused for breath. "Well, except now because this is really exciting and so I have to be awake because if I slept through this I'd be sad because this is just so exciting."

He looked like he was about to start raving again, so Yuushi gestured subtly for him to continue.

"Oh, right! Okay, so then I started looking for people I hadn't spoken to yet but I couldn't find anyone so I just kind of walked around aimlessly and then I saw Atobe and I was so excited and happy and I was going to talk to him but then he looked sad so I didn't and he announced the murder and I was sad for the rest of the day. I don't remember anything else, though because I think I fell asleep."

_No surprise there. _Yuushi nodded to him. "It's fine. That was all I wanted to know. Were you acquainted with Niou previously?"

Jiroh paused. "I didn't know him, but he was pretty good friends with Misa-chan, who's the daughter of the guy I'm interning for who lets me go out for Pocky and who therefore is really really _really _nice!"

"You know, you haven't once used the person's name. That is, who you're interning for."

Jiroh smiled sheepishly. "I kind of forgot."

Yuushi laughed incredulously. "After a year of interning?"

"Yeah, basically. I'm not good with names," he complained. "But the house is really big and it's cool and there are so many papers—"

"What was your impression of Niou?"

"I thought he was okay. He seemed like a lot of fun and he took Misa-chan out sometimes and—"

The interrogation ended fairly quickly—or, it _would _have ended fairly quickly had Jiroh not taken five minutes to answer each question. They spent the majority of the interrogation talking, and unfortunately, the only conclusion Yuushi came to was that Jiroh knew nothing.

**--- **

"How are you?" Yuushi asked, hoping for an answer.

Kabaji didn't offer him one, instead nodding his head.

Yuushi sighed. This would be a pointless interrogation, indeed.

**--- **

"Ore-sama refuses to be interrogated, and shall simply provide you with his honorable and worship-worthy answers instead," Atobe said as he came in, arms folded and chin up.

"Very well," Yuushi agreed, a tad exhausted. "What honorable and worship-worthy answers shall you provide me with?"

Atobe waited as a servant hurried in, dusted off the seats, and handed him a glass of champagne. Atobe took it obligingly and sat down, dismissing the servant. Somehow, Yuushi wasn't surprised in the least. "Naturally, I was the first to arrive. I wanted to make a dramatic entrance, being the host of such an amazing gathering, and went behind the scenes to make some last minute reviews. I watched the servants set up the hotel, but . . ."

"But you were mostly just sitting around and drinking champagne," Yuushi said flatly.

"Well, yes," Atobe admitted. "I shall not succumb to something as crude as manual labor. I was reading over a few contracts when the party finally started. I spoke a few words as the party began, and then I left to go back to the contracts, and to deal with the paparazzi. They're like hounds," he added condescendingly. "In any case, it was around one-thirty or so when I heard a loud popping sound. I was on the thirty-first floor, in the backroom."

Yuushi couldn't resist a smirk at that, and Atobe added, very offended, "It is _not _as crude as it sounds. It is, in fact, much more extravagant than the main hotel rooms. Anyway, I assumed something crashed and fell, and I was about to find someone to investigate, so I went downstairs. I passed by the main room."

Atobe paused—either for dramatic effect, or because he genuinely didn't know what to say. Yuushi suspected it was the former. "I saw Niou in there, and I was about to tell him he wasn't supposed to be there when I noticed the gun. I went to find Kabaji, who was overseeing the servants' work, and had him confirm Niou's death." He drew a shaky breath. "And then we announced it. You, Hiyoshi, and Yagyuu came in to investigate, and that was that."

"Did you know Niou personally?"

"No," Atobe said thoughtfully. "We have spoken a few times, but I wouldn't go so far as to call us friends. However, as we were both celebrities and very talented men, ore-sama was acquainted with him."

"And what sort of person did you find him to be?"

"It is difficult to say," he replied. "My insight can only see so far, but he was the type of person to wear a mask. He was fond and loyal to those close to him, but there were many, many people who thought they were close to him. He didn't necessarily see them that way, and ore-sama believes he exploited that. He would have made a fine businessman."

**--- **

"That's everyone," Hiyoshi said after Atobe left. "You're free from interrogations. For now, anyway. You get to go to the fun part now."

"Investigating isn't that much fun," Yuushi replied, sighing. "It's not about the clues or the fingerprints and footprints, although it'd be far more exciting if it were. I suppose I'll have to look through Niou's house, or do a few background checks. It's so strange; we know these people, and yet one of these people . . ."

Hiyoshi shrugged. "People change. I mean, Shishido-san doesn't try to bite people's heads off anymore, Kirihara doesn't beat people up anymore, Inui-san doesn't scare people off with his freaky drinks and do that weird glinting glasses trick anymore. You get the idea."

"It's an unfortunate occurrence." He stood and gathered his belongings. "It's late. We should get going."

"You deserve some rest," Hiyoshi said sincerely. "It must have been a tough two weeks. Can you believe it's already the end of December?"

"It's a new year tomorrow," Yuushi added. "It was generous of the school to give us time off."

"They owed it to us, what with all the tests we've been getting," Hiyoshi commented. "What are you doing to do for New Year's Eve, anyway? Not stay home all night, I hope?"

"Probably," Yuushi admitted.

Hiyoshi frowned at him. "You've been awfully gloomy as of late. I think it's the office." Just when Yuushi was about to interrupt, Hiyoshi added, "There's this instrument store—it's called Tokyo Classical, near the bus to Kanagawa—and it's pretty sophisticated. You might want to visit; don't you play the violin? They usually have performances in the evening, so maybe you could perform too. Classical music isn't my thing, but . . ."

"That's a good idea. I'll visit, then." It'd been a long time since he'd last played the violin or the piano, but from what Hiyoshi told him, the performances were impromptu, and with him having received years of lessons and being labeled a prodigy—well. He doubted it'd do too much to affect his playing. He'd always been a fast learner.

Hiyoshi noted this and smiled. "Break tradition for once. I've got to go; happy New Year, Oshitari-san."

"And you," he said amiably.

**--- **

Hiyoshi was right; the music store was classy. They had beautifully crafted violins on display, and Yuushi contemplated buying one. The texture faintly resembled Stradivarius violins, actually. Stradivarius violins were old, aged, but he recalled playing one at a young age, and recalled the unmatched beauty of the sound it produced. He'd always wanted one, but supposed there was no point in buying one anymore.

There was soft classical music coming from inside, the gentle sound of a piano played astonishingly accurately. He identified it as _La Campanella _by Liszt.

He entered. The inside of the store was even more striking than the outside; it was large, with three floors, balconies, and well preserved instruments in labeled glass cases. There were bookshelves stacked with folders, each containing classical sheet music. The floors were covered in a navy blue carpet, and the lights and lamps were old fashioned but beautiful. The store was dimly lit, but offered an ethereal quality. Instruments lined the walls opposite the bookshelves—there were cellos, violins, trumpets, flutes, clarinets, oboes, bassoons, violas, even several pianos. He paused for a moment beside a violin and let his fingers brush the case, then moved on to find the source of the music.

There was a grand piano in the center of the room, and a crowd of people surrounded it. The piano was a glossy white, with a small glass vase placed atop it, holding one red and one white rose. The figure playing it seemed small compared to the piano. Close up, the music was even more beautiful, each note carefully played, with nimble fingers and accurate hands.

This pianist was incredibly gifted—was it Ohtori, perhaps? It made Yuushi think twice about performing: The standards must have been very high. _You're just as gifted, _he told himself, and then chuckled for inadvertently sounding like Atobe.

He pushed through the growing crowd. The person sitting at the piano was short, was petite, had a crown of wine colored hair and small, pale hands.

_Gakuto? When did he . . .? _

The music was getting louder, the notes coming down more rapidly and more strongly, but each was carefully played, and every note, even the subtler ones, came through. Yuushi could feel himself gaping; this couldn't have been Gakuto.

How could his hands even _reach _that far?

But Gakuto played the piano like he'd been born to, like he was meant for it. The music came to a close, and applause erupted from the audience. Gakuto gave a sheepish bow, then gave a astonished start when he saw Yuushi, applauding calmly with everyone else.

Gakuto tilted his head to one side, seemed to contemplate something, then settled for saying, "Hey." He was wearing a suit—a black tuxedo, and dress shoes. _He must come here often, _Yuushi realized, and felt proud of him, as if the redhead were his own.

"Play a piece with me," Yuushi said, and took a random violin from a stand. "Pachabel's Canon. Do you know it?"

"Of course," Gakuto said, sounding offended. In a matter of seconds, his irritation gave way to amusement as he added, "Do _you_?"

"Of course," Yuushi replied, matching his offended tone.

Gakuto gave a small smile, and without another word, began the introduction. Yuushi followed moments later, the movements fluid.

It sounded different—the violin with the piano. He used to play without an accompanist, except in the rare instances it was mandated. Perhaps he'd gotten used to the sound of the violin without any other instruments, but even as he played, he could hear Gakuto's gentle music, always there, consistently resonating throughout the room.

The harsh words they exchanged previously were forgotten—if only temporarily. Yuushi didn't need to see the strings of the violin anymore; years of lessons came flowing back to him, and he could remember each note, each rhythm, each rest, each beat.

The music picked up its pace, then slowed, and Yuushi couldn't help but be amazed that he still remembered how to play.

He didn't know why Gakuto was there, why he'd decided to go, why he'd decided to play, but decided it was a perfect way to spend New Year's Eve.

Somewhere, steps or blocks or miles away, the clock struck midnight.


	8. Calamity

I wanted to put this up yesterday, but yesterday was Valentine's Day (as well as Chinese New Year for some) and I didn't want to post something as morbid as this up on such a lovey-dovey day.

You guys are going to hate me after you read this. I'm completely serious. And I'm not going to say anymore, because then I might spoil it and that would be bad and you guys would kill me early. Shutting up now.

(Also, this chapter doesn't have much action. 'Cept at the end. That's a lot of action. Now you're probably going to skip to the end. _Don't skip to the end. _I'm warning you, if you skip to the end, the whole effect is ruined. I didn't make that last bit happen randomly. There's a method to my madness. Maybe.)

* * *

Shishido and Choutaro were sitting in a room, discussing something over coffee.

Shishido put his mug down, and said something. Choutaro stared, unable to comprehend. Shishido repeated it.

"But you're not!" Choutaro blurted. "It was—"

Choutaro stopped short, looking torn, and Shishido smiled sadly.

**---**

Yuushi always did have trouble waking up in the morning, even with the lively atmosphere of his flat.

The penthouse flat that Yuushi stayed in wasn't as fancy as his mansion, but it was closer to the office, and he found it home-like. To be truthful, he never really liked the mansion—it was always too roomy, too fancy, too unused, almost. The mansion had three guest rooms that Yuushi had yet to set foot in, but he suspected they were like all the other rooms in his house—enormous, empty, cold.

He'd been given the mansion for his eighteenth birthday, when he'd asked to move out. It was on the edge of Tokyo, and Yuushi still had the keys somewhere in his drawer. He wanted to live there someday—maybe someday—but at the moment, he didn't want to settle down in a huge, elaborate, _empty _mansion and sip tea all day like a fifty-year old.

The penthouse, on the other hand, was smaller, livelier, and more modern, in a sense. Given, it only had two rooms in comparison to the eight rooms the mansion had, and the rooms were considerably smaller, but sunshine streamed in through the windows despite the earliness of morning, and illuminated the hardwood floors, cast a warm, golden glow over the furniture and bathed it in sunlight. The luminosity was something lacking in the mansion; the penthouse felt more like home.

That wasn't to say it was simple, or tacky. Yuushi, in the end, was still a member of the Oshitari family, and his flat was probably the best in Tokyo, with a beautiful view of the city. The penthouse still had two rooms, three bathrooms, a living room, a dining room, and a reading room. Aside from size, there wasn't much of a difference between the mansion and the penthouse.

He supposed that the penthouse just felt more . . . lived in.

It seemed more suited to Gakuto, somehow. For an instance, he wondered what it'd be like to have Gakuto there, with him. The penthouse was too big for one person, anyway. He could almost imagine it—Gakuto bouncing around, darting from one room to the next, making a mess of the kitchen and waking up all the neighbors.

_That was fourteen year old Gakuto, _Yuushi reminded himself. _Not anymore. Not ever._

It took a few moments for him to clear his head, remember it was a new year, and remember that he had a case to solve. He stood slowly and reached for a comb. His hair always looked ridiculous in the morning. There was a slight buzz in his ear, and he felt faint, almost dizzy—perhaps he'd woken too early.

_Bzzt._

_Bzzt._

Yuushi turned in annoyance. His phone was vibrating violently, and was threatening to fall off the table. He glanced at the clock—six AM. Who called at such an unholy hour in the morning?

The phone number was one that looked vaguely familiar, but didn't recognize. He answered it anyway. "Good morning. Can I help you?" He realized that he probably sounded snappy, but at thathour, he really couldn't have cared less.

"Oshitari. Are you busy?"

It took Yuushi a moment to recognize the voice. "For God's sake, Shishido, don't you _sleep_?" He sat back down on the bed, glancing out the window. There were barely any people outside—in fact, it was still kind of dark.

Shishido seemed oddly determined. "I have something important to tell you, and it can't wait."

"Not a declaration of love, I hope?" Yuushi asked wryly. "I'm sorry, but I don't feel the same way. Can we stay friends?"

The voice at the other end wasn't amused in the least. "You don't understand; it's serious. It's to do with the case."

This caught Yuushi's attention. "Really, now? Why didn't you say something during the interrogation, then?"

Shishido hesitated before answering, "I wasn't ready, and I wasn't sure if I should. But it's the right thing to do. I know that now."

"Well, alright." Yuushi was bemused, but decided to go with it. "You can go to my office, then."

"Now?"

"If possible, though it is awfully early," Yuushi commented. "Or is it possible to tell me over the phone?"

"It is," Shishido affirmed calmly. "But it's probably better if I explain in person."

"Alright, then. I'll see you there." Out of curiosity, Yuushi added, "But what is it that you want to tell me?"

Shishido said, monotonously, "I know who the murderer is."

Yuushi stood in amazement, gripping the bedpost in an attempt to stay balanced. He flinched. _Shouldn't have stood up so quickly, _he told himself. "Who?" he asked.

There was no sign of hesitation, no sign of regret as Shishido replied, "Me."

**---**

It was an unbelievable theory, but the way Shishido had said it made it seem genuine. He'd had no qualms about it, and he was almost expressionless when he walked into Yuushi's office, showing only the slightest bit of surprise as he asked, "Where are the police officers?"

"They're not needed," Yuushi replied. "We need to confirm your story, first."

Shishido bristled. "You don't believe me?"

"It's not that," Yuushi said. "But we need to get the facts straight. You say you killed Niou. First, why?"

"I hated him," he replied simply. "He was so condescending—to Choutaro, especially." He looked heartbroken, almost. "His father was—acquainted—with Choutaro's father, and neither of them approved of Choutaro's choice of career. They wanted him to be a musician, or a lawyer. Niou supported it, and he fueled his father's opinion, fanned it, even. He threatened to ruin our business altogether, if Choutaro didn't leave. It sent him into a slump for months. At the reunion, he made another jab, and you should've seen Choutaro's expression—I couldn't take it anymore."

Yuushi remained expressionless. "And how did you kill him?"

"I knew Niou carried a gun with him, and I'd brought a pair of gloves with me—it was cold that day, anyway—so that accounted for the lack of fingerprints. We talked politely for a few moments, and in between the small talk, I told him to meet me in the main room upstairs." His voice was toneless but still determined as he said, "He saw my expression, and he knew what I meant. When we got there, I shot him. He didn't resist it, or anything."

"I see."

Shishido suddenly seemed weary. "Then it was over and done with. I went back down, pretended nothing happened, and that was it."

"You're lying." It wasn't a realization, just a statement, and it took Shishido a moment to process.

"I—what?"

Yuushi folded his hands calmly. "You're lying," he repeated. "I'm not sure why, but you're lying. You weren't the murderer. It's an intricately woven story, though, I'll give you that. Very nice details."

Shishido seemed astonished, then livid. "I'm _confessing, _you moron. Why would I do that if I'm not the killer? I just told you what freaking happened!"

Yuushi shook his head. "You're not the murderer. Now, who are you covering for?"

"What makes you think I'm covering for anybody?" he demanded, his face growing redder by the second. "The facts are right in your freaking face and you won't freaking accept it. The case is over. It was me."

Yuushi sighed. "You can't fool me; I'm the detective; the case is over when I say it is, and it isn't."

"What is _wrong_ with you?"

Yuushi explained, "You wouldn't confess—not after you'd gone to such extremes to kill Niou, who was a major celebrity figure. You're not the type to make decisions lightly—or regret them afterwards. And if you were, you'd keep it to yourself, if only to keep from causing those around you anguish. Besides, you had no real reason to kill Niou—you barely associated with him. If there were a reason, it'd have to be minor, and you, level-headed Shishido, would never kill over something petty." He propped his chin up against one hand. "And if it were a major reason—which is already very unlikely—you'd never feel guilty enough to confess to it, because you'd deem it justified." He decided to leave out the fact that Niou had been killed in a game of Russian roulette—the less people who knew, the better.

There was a moment of silence, and then Shishido began laughing. "You're an idiot, Oshitari. I have no reason to confess if I'm not the murderer. I killed Niou and I have a conscience, so accept it!"

Yuushi replied, "You're lucky it's me. If it were an investigator you were unfamiliar with, he might have put you in jail already. But I know you, and I know you couldn't have committed the murder. You're mentally stable and you're sensible. That's all there is to it."

"People change," Shishido snarled, slamming both hands on the table. Yuushi barely blinked. "People change, and don't you dare tell me you didn't notice it at the reunion. We've changed, all of us, and not necessarily for the better. I hated Niou and I killed him, it's true."

"Then you wouldn't confess to it," Yuushi pointed out calmly. "You wouldn't kill simply because you hated him, either. Go home, Shishido. Whomever you're covering for appreciates your effort, I'm sure."

Shishido seemed stricken, then said, "You're a pathetic excuse for a detective, Oshitari. I killed Niou, I know it, and you're a damned fool if you don't believe me." He turned and walked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

**--- **

_This is a familiar situation, _Yuushi mused. _Sitting alone at my desk, dark room, blinds shut, soundless._

He considered going over the facts of the crime, but decided against it. He'd reviewed them so often he felt he had it memorized. In any case, there was only one murder to go on. The murderer had remained surprisingly adept at hiding himself, and had yet to do anything. A foolish few criminals in the past had been so egoistic as to leave a note, claiming that Yuushi would never discover their identities.

Needless to say, with the note as evidence, uncovering the murderers' identities had been predictably easy. But this one, he was intelligent. Clever.

He wondered who it could be, simply for the fun of it. Most of—no, all of—his past acquaintances had been intelligent—and even if they weren't, they'd certainly matured over the years.

(_Gakuto, _a voice said.)

Like—like Momoshiro, for instance. He'd become much more than the blundering, reckless jock he'd been in middle school. He was a psychiatrist, was going to one of the premier colleges in Japan.

(_Stop ignoring it._)

Or Kirihara Akaya. He'd retained his innocence to some extent (which was ironic, considering the type of tennis he played), but had otherwise matured into an intelligent young man, and while he didn't show signs of quitting tennis anytime soon, he was apparently very gifted in the humanities and sciences, and definitely had a fallback career in mind.

(_It won't go away because you're not thinking about it._)

And then there were those who had been mature to begin with. Fuji Syusuke, for example, was a shrewd individual from the start. Who knew what he was capable of now?

(_And Gakuto? What of him?_)

It bothered him that one of them was the murderer. It was possible, in fact, that it was _more _than one of them—it could've been a group effort. But it was in their own circle—what could the murderer possibly have had against someone like Niou? Niou, who was so charismatic, so likable.

But then, Niou was also the type to make enemies, was he not?

That was right—he'd remained isolated from almost all his former acquaintances ever since—

(_Say it._)

—since college. Yes, college.

Well, that was inaccurate. Since the end of high school. When students decided on their futures, when they decided what colleges they'd be attending, when they decided they'd leave, leave for another country, leave for another continent, leave for _France, _of all places . . .!

(_There's more._)

He supposed it was partially his fault—he was the one who cut off contact with everybody. Hiyoshi, and his colleagues, his family—they were the only ones left. And even Hiyoshi, he'd only regained contact with a year or so ago.

But Yuushi was grateful for him, for them, all of them. They were people he could trust. They were the only ones left he could trust.

Don't trust anybody.

That was one of the first things they taught you in law—that there were almost no allies, never any real allies, that anything, anybody could be used against you. And if, by any rare chance, that you _did _find an ally, then you were to hold onto him or her, never let that person out of your sight, into danger—for even then, that could be used against you. Something could always be used against you, always, always—

(_Gakuto, _it said. _You're thinking about Gakuto._)

_No, _Yuushi thought. _No, I'm not._

(_You are, now._)

(_What will it be? Friend versus law. Sentiment versus fact. Bias versus reality. What will it be, Yuushi? Not so easy now, is it . . .?_)

**---**

Shishido stared in disbelief at who was lying on the floor in his and Choutaro's flat. He could feel tears coming, but they didn't quite reach his eyes.

_That . . . that's . . ._

**--- **

_Bzzt._

_Bzzt. _

Yuushi glanced at the phone. Shishido again? "Hello?"

"_The police are coming,"_ Shishido said, his voice weak. "_You have to hurry."_ He sounded as though he wanted to say more, but all Yuushi heard was a choking sound, followed by shallow gasps for breath and strangled sobs.

Yuushi inhaled sharply and stood again. "Shishido, what's wrong? What happened?" he asked steadily, hoping the stability of his tone would soothe Shishido, if only slightly. "Take a deep breath. What happened?"

"_H-he's d-d-dead_," Shishido managed, still hysterical.

"Who?" Yuushi demanded. He grabbed his coat and rushed out the door. "Who's dead?"

"_Ch-Choutaro."_


	9. Retrospect

Change of plans. This is going to be fifteen chapters long.

I'm thinking of putting up a poll, one that asks who you think the murderer is, but I'm afraid that'd narrow down the choices for you. And if I were to include everyone… then the poll would be longer than my profile page. So, if you like, PM me who you think the murderer is, because I'm sure you have much more evidence now than you did before. And just because the focus is around Hyotei—and Yuushi—right now doesn't mean the murderer is from Hyotei. ;) Consider everyone, because the other teams are going to be getting the spotlight next chapter.

* * *

"He's dead."

Yuushi flinched at the sound of shattering porcelain. "Hiyoshi?" he asked. "Hiyoshi, are you alright?"

There was no reply, and for a moment, Yuushi wondered if the murderer had gotten to him, too. Then a shaky voice said, "_Yeah, I'm okay. You're headed to Ohtori's house, then? I—I'll meet you there."_ With that, he hung up, and Yuushi headed to the flat.

Hiyoshi would probably take this the hardest—second to Shishido, at least, Yuushi realized. They were very close—and Choutaro was one of the most amiable people Yuushi had met. It was easy, very easy to get attached to him. The boy was remarkably talented, kind, generous, a saint—he'd had everything.

_Niou, too, _he thought.

**---**

Yuushi glanced around the room. Shishido and Ohtori—Shishido—had a very well-furnished flat. It was impeccably styled, the windows allowing just the right amount of sunlight to enter. The atmosphere that the room gave off was cheery, unfit for such a calamity. It was a lovely flat; the two of them had been rather well-off, and he supposed they'd had a knack for such a thing to begin with. Oddly, nothing seemed out of place. He'd been taken to Ohtori's still unmoved body as soon as he'd entered, and as far as he could tell, it was a clean shot to the occipital lobe, with nothing else in the room misplaced.

It was eerily reminiscent of Niou's murder.

Shishido was nearing hysterics by the time Yuushi had arrived. Hiyoshi was already there, panicked and franticly checking every corner of the flat. His eyes were rimmed with red, like he'd been crying. Yuushi didn't doubt it. He was greeted by neither Hiyoshi nor Shishido when he entered, only by a police officer who'd informed him that an autopsy would be performed immediately and he was welcome to investigate the room as he wished. Yuushi opted to sit across from Shishido instead, and calmly waited for Shishido to finish mumbling to himself. He lost his patience after the first ten minutes, and said, "Would you mind if I asked some questions?"

"It's my fault," Shishido said, staring at the wall. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have—I didn't—"

Yuushi cut him off. "It's not your fault. You didn't kill him."

"I may as well have," he said wretchedly. "I should've died—it should've been me. Choutaro didn't do _anything_." Then he paled. "I doubted him. I shouldn't have doubted him. He was telling the truth and I doubted him."

"Doubted what?" Yuushi tried, but Shishido was shaking his head wildly.

"It's my fault," he lamented, his breath coming in gasps. "Oh, God, Choutaro, if you can hear me, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry . . ."

Yuushi grabbed hold of Shishido's shoulders. "Get a hold of yourself," he said slowly. "You're panicking, and you're hyperventilating. In about two minutes you're going to stop breathing, and then _you're _going to die too, and we'll never find the murderer. So calm down."

Shishido didn't seem to have heard Yuushi's order, and put a hand over his mouth, breathing slowly. He was still muttering quietly, but Yuushi couldn't make out a word of it. Something about coffee and mansions . . .

"Do as you wish," he said flatly. "Feel sorry for yourself for the rest of your life. But if you ever want to find the murderer, then you'll have to help me. And don't go on about how you killed Choutaro, because, really, I'm not falling for it."

_Well, that was harsh. _

Shishido glanced upward, like there was nothing more he'd like to do than strangle him, but drew another shaky breath and stared at his hands.

Yuushi gave a long sigh. "Tell me the truth this time," he said gently.

Shishido was still pale, and his expression was heartbreaking. "Some of the story was true," he explained shakily. His voice cracked, and the words sounded like they were dragged by thorns. "Choutaro's father didn't approve of our business—he didn't approve of me in general. He comes from a much higher class than I do—you know that. To be honest, he wouldn't even need to work. But he liked interior design, and we were close. It was enjoyable, and Choutaro was happy. That's all there is to it. But his father never liked it, and he told Choutaro it was either the business or his inheritance."

"And Choutaro chose the business," Yuushi concluded.

Shishido laughed humorlessly. "Yeah. It was my fault," he said, sounding miserable. "It was my fault to begin with, and it's my fault he's dead. Niou had nothing to do with the inheritance issue—he was always fond of Choutaro, and he and I were okay, too. He was always defending us; he commissioned tons of buildings, and we ended up receiving a lot of publicity because of him. He was great."

Yuushi nodded slowly. "But it wasn't your fault," he reminded. "Choutaro chose the business because he liked design, and he enjoyed your company. He was perfectly aware of his decision, and lounging around was never to his preferences, anyway. But tell me—why did you cover for him?"

"You suspected him," Shishido replied. "You're good at what you do, Oshitari. And I thought Choutaro was the murderer."

"Why?"

"I saw him," he answered. "Niou went upstairs half an hour before Choutaro did, and when he did, I followed him. I thought it was weird, and he didn't seem to notice me. But I lost him for a while. Then I saw him outside the main room, and I saw him walk back downstairs. He didn't see me. I didn't think anything of it, but then they said Niou was dead, that they found his body in the main room, and then I knew."

"Didn't you think it was odd that Choutaro and Niou were on such good terms, though?"

"He didn't deny it when I asked," Shishido said vaguely. At Yuushi's confused stare, he explained, "I told him that I killed Niou. And Choutaro said it couldn't be me, and he was about to say who it was when he stopped. I figured he was going to say himself, but didn't want to admit it, or something." He shook his head. "But it couldn't have been Choutaro. He's _dead,_" he spat. "He wouldn't commit suicide. I know him. So he couldn't have killed Niou."

Yuushi nodded slowly. "You're right," he agreed. "It wasn't Choutaro. And from what you've said, it appears that they'd been fond of each other—he'd have no reason to kill him. And if there were, you'd be aware of it."

"So I covered for him. I thought it was him. I shouldn't have doubted him." And then he was muttering under his breath, "Shouldn't have doubted you, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have doubted you . . ." He took a shaky breath and continued, "You see? I owed it to him. It was my fault he lost his inheritance. He shouldn't have had to work—he didn't need to live in the city. He had two houses in the suburbs and mansions all over the world. And thanks to me he lost it."

"He wouldn't have wanted it," Yuushi assured. "He liked living with you, liked living in the city, and he liked working. He was happy."

"He lost his inheritance because of me," Shishido said blankly. "That's it."

"Then that's why you covered for him?"

He looked up and said fiercely, "I would've taken the blame even if he hadn't lost his inheritance."

"I know," Yuushi murmured.

"And now it was all for naught," he muttered. "But it doesn't make _sense. _Why Choutaro?"

"Why Niou?" Yuushi pointed out in reply. "It's odd—it's very odd. Why would the murderer strike now?" He hesitated. "Did Choutaro visit anyone recently? Have any sort of private meetings?"

Shishido thought for a moment. "Not that I know of. Choutaro was pretty sociable, you know? I mean, he'd meet up with some of our clients, and they'd talk like they were old friends or something. People just liked him. I don't get why anyone would—"

"I've done an investigation," Hiyoshi interrupted, entering the guestroom. "There isn't much of anything; nothing's really out of place, from what I can tell. Did you notice anything when you entered, Shishido-san?"

He shook his head. "I didn't really look too closely," he admitted. "But everything seemed right."

Hiyoshi nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I can't find the gun, either. The murderer probably took it with him." He hesitated. "It was a nine millimeter bullet. It would've worked with Niou's pearl revolver, too. Nine millimeter bullets are pretty common among handheld pistols, so it doesn't narrow anything down, really. He—or she—might've been carrying the bullets with him. There were no other bullets seen, and from the looks of it, the blood was Ohtori's only. We'll look into it," he assured.

Yuushi glanced at Shishido, said, "We'll be right back," and pulled Hiyoshi out of the room. "About the body . . ."

Hiyoshi frowned. "He's been dead for an hour and a half, roughly. Around the time Shishido called you, he'd probably been dead for an hour, or forty-five minutes. The murderer would've had ample time to escape. What I don't understand is how he managed to get in without anyone noticing. It's awfully coincidental—almost all of their neighbors were away at the time, or didn't notice anything unusual."

Yuushi murmured agreement. "The neighbors here know Choutaro and Shishido very well," he acknowledged. "They would've realized something was off had they seen anyone else."

"This would be so much easier if it were like one of those detective novels," Hiyoshi commented. "With their footprints, magnifying glasses, and whatnot."

"I think you mean detective _movies._ And that'd make things too easy, wouldn't it? Was there anything else you noticed?"

Hiyoshi glanced back at the guestroom, where Shishido sat on the couch, studying the coffee table. "Do you think it was another instance of Russian roulette?"

"Why do you say that?" Yuushi supposed he already knew, but was curious to know what Hiyoshi had made of the situation.

"Well . . . if it's a repeated murder, and it's the same murderer—if he didn't want to be caught, he'd probably use a different tactic, but . . ." He sighed wearily. "I don't know how to explain it," he admitted. "It's just—the way he shot. The bullet was in the perfect position—a quick kill, like his first murder. And unless he'd been extremely skilled and experienced, it would've been difficult to make such a clean first shot."

"In the instance of Russian roulette, Choutaro would've had to shoot himself. Do you suppose he would've done it willingly?"

"The murderer was someone we knew," Hiyoshi murmured. "Assuming it'd been a friend of Ohtori's—then yes, he might've done it willingly."

"But what _for_?" he pressed.

"I've no idea," Hiyoshi admitted.

Yuushi nodded. "Then we'll further investigate this at the office."

They stopped by to inform Shishido of their leave, but the brunette barely acknowledged their presence; he'd given them the faintest of nods, without a word. Hiyoshi looked especially worried, and tentatively tried to comfort him. "He's safest where he is, now," he said unsurely. "And there's no drama to hold him back, anymore."

Shishido showed no sign of having heard his words, and the two men left.

**---**

The sun was bright when they exited, and the sky was a brilliant blue.

Hiyoshi took one glance at the beautiful weather and promptly punched a tree.

Yuushi frowned at him. "We don't need you getting hurt, too," he said sharply. "This isn't the time. And," he said, only partly joking, "if the murderer comes after you, too, you'll need a hand to defend yourself with. Don't break it on a tree."

Hiyoshi chuckled dryly, looking down at his hand. "Why Ohtori?" he asked, after a few moments of silence. "He never did anything. If he'd just—been too busy for the party, or something. And he could've missed the reunion. Then he'd still—I don't know."

Yuushi nodded grimly. "Everybody was present," he acknowledged. "It's unfortunate for us, and for them. Too many suspects, too many potential victims."

"But Ohtori never _did _anything," Hiyoshi said doggedly. "He—he volunteered at the animal shelter. He donated to charity. He always brought money with him when he traveled, in case he ran into the homeless. He—"

"I _know._"

Hiyoshi fell silent for a moment. "It's not fair," he said, "that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Many people were," Yuushi reminded him. "We were, too."

"I hope nothing else happens," Hiyoshi said, walking away from the trees and toward the police station. "Two deaths—already. It's awful. If everything stops, nothing else happens . . ."

"That'd be pleasant," Yuushi agreed. "But unlikely."

**---**

The news of Ohtori's death spread quickly. He was liked by many; Hyotei wasn't the only ones mourning. Yuushi had heard that Gakuto and Kikumaru Eiji had joined forces for once and rushed to Shishido's and Ohtori's flat. The police weren't allowing any visitors, and there were already a number of paparazzi present, clamoring for a shot at Ohtori Choutaro, a talented designer, who'd suffered the same fate as the esteemed Niou Masaharu. Kikumaru had been awfully fond of Choutaro; they'd been friends throughout middle school, even with the rivalry their two schools shared, and had kept in touch all throughout high school and college. He'd heard that he'd pleasantly drop-kicked a reporter who'd pushed him out of the way.

He assumed that Gakuto's reaction had been a bit less . . . volatile.

Hyotei, essentially, was in a rage—Choutaro had been the youngest, kindest, sweetest, and one of the most talented members, and nobody could find a good reason for his murder. Seigaku and RikkaiDai both gave their sympathies, but it was of little comfort to Hyotei.

Yuushi had anticipated most of their reactions, but he had to admit that Fuji's was extraordinarily peculiar.

He'd invited Yuushi out to dinner.

"Dinner?" Yuushi had repeated, disbelieving. "Ohtori died today, Fuji. You want to celebrate his death?"

"No," Fuji answered. "I want to celebrate your lack of accomplishments as a detective. Need you question my motives? You can't even get me to answer your questions with a straight answer. What makes you think I'll answer you now?"

That, Yuushi admitted, despite the twisted logic, made sense.

"The Four Seasons," Fuji told him. "At eight o'clock. I've made reservations. Don't be late."

Dial tone.

Yuushi hung up the phone.

**---**

It was a fancy restaurant, Yuushi knew; his family had been there more than once, and although he hadn't particularly cared for the food, he did quite like the scenery—a water fountain, dimmed lights, classical music.

It did always seem like the type of place Fuji would go to.

He'd carelessly tossed on the first suit and tie he'd seen, and walked into the restaurant with no qualms. He spotted Fuji almost instantly, and was ushered in by a waiter. Fuji greeted him with a blindingly brilliant smile, and waved away the waiter, who bowed politely and looking a little worse for wear.

"How are you?" Fuji asked pleasantly.

"One of my best friends just died," Yuushi replied briefly. "I must admit, I'm not in the best of moods."

Fuji laughed. "That," he agreed, "is a very reasonable excuse. Very well. We'll talk crossly, if it makes you feel better."

"Why did you ask to meet me here? You've invited me to coffee shops, to boutiques and offices, and never have you once provided me with a straight answer."

Fuji leaned in. "I'm aware that you and Choutaro were very close. I'm also aware that Choutaro was a wonderful person. Life's horribly unfair, Oshitari. But you can change that."

"By?"

He leaned back. "Solving the case."

"Don't you think I know that?" Yuushi demanded, half exasperated, half annoyed.

"By _convicting _the murderer," he emphasized. "It's one thing to solve a case, and it's another to punish the murderer." People were starting to stare at them now—two young men, dressed impeccably, at one of the best restaurants in the world, talking about murder. Yuushi lowered his voice.

"Why wouldn't I do so?"

Fuji glanced away, then back. "These people are all people we're close to. Niou, for instance, might've been a peculiar character, but you'll acknowledge that he was amiable, and a friend to most of us. It could be difficult to convict someone we grew up with, don't you think?"

"His crimes are unforgivable," Yuushi said briskly.

"You say that because Choutaro suffered because of it," Fuji began.

"He's _dead. _You can't suffer much more than that."

"Wrong," Fuji said. "But I'm not going to argue about that now. Choutaro suffered, and you were close to him, which is why you're so—cranky today." He seemed amused, and continued, "What if the murderer is someone you're even closer to?"

"Why are you doubting me so much? Do you find me so untrustworthy that you think I'd let a criminal escape? How much do you know about the case, exactly?"

"Much more than you do," he said mirthfully. "And more than I care to admit." Fuji smiled pleasantly. "Don't you miss our middle school days? When we'd all just met each other, and had nothing more to worry about than tennis games and competitions. No drama."

"No drama," Yuushi agreed. "Yes, I do miss it. But it's pointless to be nostalgic at this point. How can someone change so much?"

"You mean, from a tennis player to a murderer? Who knows? It must be a thrilling life he leads," he mused. "Having to kill off any and all witnesses. I'd bet he never thought killing one person could be so complicated. Or maybe that wasn't what you meant." He propped his chin on one hand. "Tell me, how's your love life? Nonexistent?"

"Quite."

Fuji laughed. "That's to be expected," he agreed. "Have you spoken a word to Gakuto-kun since your lovely duet at the music store? Don't ask me how I knew; even you know that's a waste of time."

"I haven't spoken to him at all," he said stiffly.

"Charming with women," Fuji acknowledged, "and an absolute mess with Gakuto-kun. I'd be amused if it hadn't been such a tragic day."

"You do sound amused."

"So I do," he said pleasantly. "You're fond of him, aren't you? But I believe that's all there is to it."

Yuushi gave a start at that. It was true, he realized; in all his years with Gakuto, he'd never quite considered the prospect of sharing anything more than friendship with him; but there'd been something then that was missing now.

And never had he once thought that he'd be the one caught, the one left behind, the one chasing after Gakuto, never close enough and always too far. That Gakuto, loudmouthed and rude, all sharp edges and brash retorts—

And this Gakuto, quiet and dignified, all refined points and subtle finesse. He liked this Gakuto, he really did—it was everything he could've wished for; someone elegant, practical, a high society type, artistically talented, a Midas touch. This Gakuto was perfect, and he was fond of him, so fond of him. He'd never liked someone quite so much before.

But something was lacking.

There was a sparkle missing, flashiness lacking, rudeness and recklessness and silliness and all—missing. And there was a sensation missing, a jumping of the heart, a clench of the stomach, a dizziness and a happiness and a sort of relaxation, all missing.

He was awfully fond of this new Gakuto. He liked this new Gakuto, liked him very much.

He wished he could love him.

Fuji nodded firmly. "Ask him out," he said. "What've you got to lose?"

They spent the rest of the night making small talk, but both sides seemed strangely absentminded. Waiters and clients alike stared openly at them. Both strangely ethereal and handsome, young, with their entire lives ahead of them, acting as if they had the largest burdens in the world.

_Now, what could they possibly have to worry about?_ they wondered.

**---**

Tear-stained bedsheets, a heap of tissues by the floor, Choutaro's notes placed carefully by his bedside. A dark room, a young brunette, lying carelessly on the bed, too grief-stricken to properly settle. Labored breaths.

A revolver spun, pointing to him. It was a foolish sentiment. A revolver picked up. Shot. Swiftly to the head.

The brunette gave no shudder, no convulsion. But the breathing stopped.

Someone left the room.

**---**

His office was still dark and dreary. The building was almost empty, but he stayed behind.

Yuushi thought.

_"Are you alright, Oshitari-san?"_

_"You don't look fine, Oshitari-san. Tell me what happened. Please?"_

_"Shishido-san is outside, so if you'd rather tell him . . ."_

_"I think it's the room. It's dreary."_

_"It's the mood. You see, the plants never go __there; __they're always at least a foot away from the window. It provides a lighter tone. Also, the blinds don't go very well with the rest of the room. It's too modern, and it contrasts with the feel of the rest of your office. Besides, it makes your office look a bit like a jail cell. What else? Oh! Your desk shouldn't face the wall; like that; it's too restricting. You have such a roomy office; why not place it somewhere near the center?"_

And then:

_"Alright. Someday, Ohtori, you may remodel the office for me."_

_Choutaro beamed. "Can I, really?"_

Too late to cry about it now, he thought.

He stood in his office, eyeing the heap of things he'd bought from the furniture door. Then he walked over to the plants, and pushed them a foot away from the window. He pulled out a pair of light, silvery curtains and took down the blinds, replacing them. And then he pushed the desk away from the wall, and toward the center.

_It _does _look better, _he realized, and smiled forlornly.

He turned off the light and went home.


	10. Consequence

…I think FFnet messed up _all _my line breaks. All my bloody line breaks! Damn it! Should I like, go and replace every single To Try and Russian Roulette line break? That's a _lot _of line breaks…

This is a super, super short chapter, because I just suddenly felt like writing, and I figured I'd put it up before… well, it's already been a month, so never mind that.

My birthday is this Monday. Be happy for me. :)

* * *

"How's your morning going?" Hiyoshi inquired, pushing past Yuushi's aggravated assistant and handing him his daily mug of coffee.

"Oshitari-kun," the assistant began, "there are three reporters waiting outside and one representative from Tokyo Daily. We can't keep them waiting like this. People want to know about the case."

Yuushi gave her an irritated look, but Hiyoshi beat him to it. "People aren't going to know about the case. So leave my office, and sic whoever's out there."

The assistant left in a huff, and Yuushi looked at Hiyoshi approvingly. "Eloquently put," he praised. "How would you feel about working for me?"

"I like my position as it is," Hiyoshi replied. "Less work. How's the Russian roulette thing going?"

"Russian roulette," Yuushi repeated, and tightened his grip on his coffee. "Three times."

Hiyoshi leaned casually against the office door. "Shishido," he murmured. "I don't think it would've been a case of Russian roulette with him, though, would it?"

Yuushi shook his head. "Shishido was sleeping. With the position he was in, it's highly unlikely he'd woken up, played the game, and then just crawled back into bed," he deadpanned. "Shishido was killed in his sleep. How merciful of the murderer."

"It's someone we know," Hiyoshi pointed out. "I guess he—or she—would have to show _some _sympathy, right? Shishido was one of us. You either hated him or loved him, I think."

It was still awfully cold outside, and the snow had just begun to let up. The streets were covered in an icy white, but were mostly empty—two mini-celebrities and one star had been murdered, and nobody seemed much in the mood for going outside. Children were kept closely to their parents' sides, and what shopping was done was done quickly and hastily. Security was maximized at Yuushi and Hiyoshi's orders upon Shishido's death—the third one in two months.

Two months. And no answers.

"Two bouts of Russian roulette," Hiyoshi mused, "not one loss. Oh, and one cold-blooded murder. Quaint way to start off the new year, isn't it? How was your meeting with Fuji?"

Yuushi gave a start; he'd almost forgotten about it. "How did you know?"

"You seemed in a pretty bad mood," Hiyoshi replied, amused. "Only Fuji could do that to you."

"Brilliant deductive thinking."

Hiyoshi mock-bowed. "Thank you. In all seriousness—how was it? You mentioned that Fuji knew something the other day. Did he finally cave in?"

He snorted. "Not a chance. He gave me some more cryptic information, then threatened to sue me if I didn't solve the case."

"Seriously?"

"No," he admitted. "But it was implied. And there was quite a bit of insulting in there, too. The rest of the night was spent making small talk. It was—unpleasant. The food, however, was quite pleasing. Have you ever been to the Four Seasons? It's a lovely restaurant; I might go there someday, on my own. What else . . . ah, that's right. He gave me tickets to see this show. 'An Evening in Vienna,' I believe. It's a classical music concert. I hear he's performing."

Hiyoshi arched an eyebrow. "Don't try to change the subject." He paused. "What instrument does he play?"

"The flute," he replied. "I might give the tickets to Kirihara-kun instead. I hear he's quite fond of winds instruments."

Hiyoshi smiled. "Yes, he is. That's kind of you—but how would he take it? Kirihara isn't the type to accept charity."

"I'd only have to tell him that Fuji's going. He'd love a chance to go, just to spite him. I hear their relationship hasn't gotten any better over the last few years."

"Fuji's the type to hold grudges," Hiyoshi agreed. "And don't try to distract me. Fuji said something else, didn't he? What?"

"You sound like a gossiping schoolgirl."

"Just _tell _me."

Yuushi stayed silent. Hiyoshi stared at him for a good ten seconds, then relaxed. his mouth rose in a smirk and he offered, "I think you should go out with Mukahi, too. I hear he's free this weekend. And I hear he loves going for walks in the park. And that he really, _really _likes roller coasters. Which they have at the park. Which you should go to. Which is what Fuji said, yes?"

Yuushi scowled, and Hiyoshi gave a rare, genuine grin. "Hey, why not?"

* * *

Yuushi knew he'd be able to recognize Gakuto's blazing red hair anywhere, but he'd never imagined that Gakuto could look so . . . _different, _sitting on a park bench. He was easy to spot, with his first class wardrobe, among the dozens of casually dressed tourists and Japanese. Much less people than usual, of course, but… He gave a quick wave, which Gakuto's sharp eyes caught instantly.

Gakuto smiled pleasantly, dressed expertly in an expensive Versace trench coat, Armani button-down shirt, Armani dress pants, and Gucci shoes. He wore a simple Paget watch, whose light blue band matched his shirt perfectly. His hair was combed and slightly parted to one side, in an impeccable pageboy bob. He looked like he'd come straight from work, although Yuushi knew for a fact that he wasn't working at all while he was at Japan. Regardless, for the first time, Yuushi felt absurdly under-dressed. "Nice to see you," Gakuto said politely. "How's work?"

Yuushi noted that he was carefully avoiding the topic of the case. "Pointless," he answered briefly. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking. Life's awfully boring without anything to do. The sooner I return to France, the better. Though I'm not sure my colleagues feel the same way," he joked. "They must be partying right now."

_This is not Gakuto._

Yuushi shook his head. "Of course not. I can't imagine how they'd get by without you. You're even _dressed _efficiently, and you're on vacation right now."

"You flatter me. And so are you," Gakuto replied briefly. "You could toss on a hoodie lying around and still look formal." He tilted his head slightly, and his bangs fell toward his eyes. "It's a matter of charisma, I believe."

_How can he talk like that and sound . . . natural? _Fuji didn't talk like that, Tezuka didn't talk like that, Sanada didn't talk like that, Yukimura didn't talk like that—Atobe _did _talk like that, but Atobe was Atobe and there was nothing to be done about it.

"You're really quite fortunate," he continued. "Just born with it. Girls would fall over themselves to get to you, Yuushi." His smile was archaic as he added, "It must work wonderfully to your advantage."

"Perhaps," he decided. "But I try not to take advantage of it."

"You're so insecure," Gakuto laughed, and stood. "Want to walk?"

…

_"I hear he loves going for walks in the park." _

…

"That'd be nice," Yuushi agreed, and followed him into the park.

It was a pleasant day, especially for a winter afternoon. It really wasn't dark at all outside, and quite warm—in any case, there weren't as many people as there usually were. The park was much less crowded than usual, and for the first time in months, Yuushi found that he could go for a walk without being crowded by civilians.

"Fuji called me," Gakuto began. "Something about tickets to a classical concert. 'An Evening in Vienna,' right? By Sylvan Winds?"

_So that's why he gave me those tickets._

"It does seem like a good concert," he added. "But I read the repertoire, and I'm not particularly fond of those pieces. Are you?"

"No," he replied honestly. "I'm not one for winds instruments."

Gakuto seemed genuinely confused. "Why? I love winds instruments; it's the repertoire I'm not fond of."

"They seem crude," Yuushi replied. "I know they're not—but strings instruments seem much finer." He'd always had a preference for strings instruments—he'd started off with the violin, then the viola, then the violoncello, and even took double bass lessons for a few years. Piano, of course, also counted as a percussion instrument—but he figured it was more strings than percussion, and learned that, too. Still, he'd forgotten how lovely the violin could sound with an accompaniment until—

"I play the clarinet," Gakuto offered. "It's really not crude at all."

"Play it for me."

_What am I saying?_

"I don't have it with me," he laughed, and checked his watch. He gave an anxious start. "Maybe next time." He seemed distinctly uncomfortable as he said that, but Yuushi took no notice.

"You've made such a turn-around," Yuushi began. "I don't know—"

Gakuto interrupted embarrassedly. "I'm really sorry," he said sincerely, "but I have to go. Now."

"It's been five minutes," Yuushi pointed out.

"I'm sorry," he repeated awkwardly. "Look, I'll get back to you about the clarinet, okay? But I really have to go—I'm meeting up with someone."

"Then why didn't you just—"

"Reschedule for another day earlier?" Gakuto guessed. "I wanted to see you."

Yuushi didn't quite know what to say to that. Gakuto took advantage of his silence and left.

* * *

Eiji frowned at Inui, who was seated across from him. They'd both taken the day off, and were currently in a small, secluded café. He began, "Did you hear anything from Fuji yet?"

Inui shook his head. "Not a word. I hear he went out for dinner with Oshitari, though. I wonder why."

Eiji grinned. "He always did like to manipulate people," he offered. "It's not that much of a shocker. But I'm worried about him. He liked Choutaro, I know. So did I," he added. "But Fuji's—he's not really good at getting close to people, you know?"

"He wasn't nearly as fond of Shishido and Niou," Inui said slowly. "And I've found something I think you should look at."

He pushed a file toward Eiji.

Eiji read it slowly, then tossed the file onto the coffee table. Inui caught it hurriedly. "That can't be true," Eiji snapped, uncharacteristically upset. "Fuji's always been perfectly—"

"Sane?" Inui finished. "Do you believe that?"

Eiji was silent.

* * *

Fuji gave a slow, long sigh. His parents were on vacation in Austria. Yuuta was out for the day (with that purple, insignificant _blob_), and his older sister was out for lunch with her fiancé. He was very fond of her fiance—they were a perfect match.

It would've been a decent day. He always did like having the house to himself. Of course, he had his own flat—but it was less homely, much less homely than the home he'd grown up in. Even when it was empty.

Yes, it _would've _been a decent day.

But something was off.

He wasn't in the best of moods to begin with. What happened with Choutaro had indeed upset him—he hadn't wanted to invite Yuushi out, particularly. Yuushi wasn't the only one who'd been fond of the boy. Niou and Shishido, Fuji could personally do without. But Choutaro—his death had been distressing.

And today . . .

"Something's going to happen today," he murmured, and glared intense blue eyes at the clear, cloudless sky.

* * *

Yagyuu sat on the glamorous leather couch, uncomfortable to him, but still familiar. It'd been Niou's favorite couch—the silver thread, dark leather, modern shape, all of it.

It was Niou's house, after all.

Yagyuu had visited this house countless times—it was a second home. But, he realized, it felt less like home when Niou wasn't present. "You moron," he said to himself, and leaned back. The flat-screen, the marble tiles, the glossy mirrors, the brilliant colors: It was Niou, all Niou. He'd gotten it all and he'd lost it all.

He'd lost what mattered, anyway.

It was all just a game to Niou, in the end. He'd found it amusing, and he'd played in dangerous territory. He loved enemies, craved them—and Yagyuu was certain that was why he'd decided to attend the reunion. He'd made more than his share of enemies in the past few years, both in past acquaintances and recent ones—and some, a mixture of both.

One game. Three deaths.

It worried Yagyuu just what the murderer was capable of doing.

* * *

Jiroh gave an incoherent mumble and shoved a pillow in his face. Misa-chan hesitantly placed a box of pocky by his chair and left. Her footsteps grew fainter and fainter, and Jiroh only peeked out from beneath his pillow when the sound disappeared altogether.

Then he gave a groan and shoved his face into the pillow again.

"Poor Choutaro," he mumbled. "Always looking after me. He was younger than me, too."

And Shishido! And Niou! Two geniuses, two people he'd admired.

There was more coming, too.

The murderer might as well have taken him along with them.

* * *

Niou Haruka peeked inside Marui's room. "Are you okay?" she murmured, and pushed open the door a tad. "Can I come in?"

Marui snorted. "I'm not the one you should be worried about," he said grimly. "I'm not the one who just lost a brother."

"Masaharu wouldn't have wanted me to focus on his death," she said, but it sounded forced. "He would've wanted us to be happy. I'm getting over it. Why can't you?"

"You're not getting over it," he said slowly. "You're trying to get over it. You're forcing yourself to get over it, and it's not working. It's all _his _fault!"

"Whose fault?" Haruka demanded. "Bunta, calm down."

His violet eyes were narrowed. "I'm sorry," he said, "but can you leave?"

Her face fell, but she shut the door and walked away silently.

Marui fell onto his back, and stared at the ceiling. His hands were trembling. He felt woozy. The magnitude of what he was going to do—but it'd repent for—it'd—

_I have to do this, _he thought. _I have to. _


	11. Hysteria

**Silver Cyanide, you better be reading this chapter! **(Chances are she isn't reading this chapter. So somebody, tell her to read this chapter. Please?)

So, I'm sure you guys know the drill by now. I watch a few animes, get obsessed with one of them, then give or take a month or two, and I switch to another anime, get obsessed, then another, and another, and another…

Which is why I haven't really been updating lately; I've been switching back and forth a _lot _lately, but I am very, very happy and proud to announce that I am back in the Prince of Tennis craze! Plus, all my finals and state exams are over. (I'm freeeeeeeee—!) So, lots and lots of updates coming up, 'kay?

Let's get back to the more interesting stuff—like who's getting murdered next. (Speaking of which, you guys are going to hate me after this, aren't you? This is like, my third favorite character, I swear! Niou and Shishido and Choutaro were among my favorites, too.)

* * *

Yuushi refused to lose his composure.

He should've expected Gakuto's abrupt leave, he really should have. Gakuto was always one to be spontaneous—and as Gakuto liked to remind him, he'd changed. What right did he have to predict anything? He was another old classmate, another high school graduate to him.

So he really shouldn't have been as upset by it as he was.

What was he expecting out of it, anyway? Gakuto, to him, _was _another old classmate, another high school graduate. And, to be fair, Yuushi had probably changed, too. There was no need to get so worked up about it. Gakuto had a busy schedule; he wanted to see people, meet people, catch up. Yuushi shouldn't have expected anything else. Gakuto had every right to meet other friends. They were—were, _were_—best friends. He'd always played the role of the best friend well.

And yet, that didn't sound quite right.

He was fully willing to admit that he felt strongly for Gakuto, for new Gakuto. New Gakuto was—well, like him. It was easy to say he'd grown up, matured, become an adult. But that wasn't Gakuto.

Paradoxes. He didn't like them much.

Yuushi sat back in his chair and stared out the window. It was dark already; he'd returned to the office after the incident with Gakuto, and settled for fiddling with his pen. It'd been such a beautiful day, if the events of the day weren't taken into account. And now it was a cloudless night, the stars perfectly visible and the moon perfectly full.

Perfection. It was unattainable, but he used the word, regardless.

The data on the case was scattered across his desk—papers and witnesses, contacts and phone numbers. He hadn't bothered reading them, because he was preoccupied, so preoccupied. All because of Gakuto. He didn't understand it; he knew finding the murderer was far more important. Three tennis teams—or what was left of those tennis teams—depended on him. It wasn't tennis, wasn't a game anymore. These were lives, lives at stake. And however cheesy it was, he knew it was true.

He knew, he knew _perfectly_ well.

And he almost laughed at the irony.

The door opened, and in walked Hiyoshi, carrying a portfolio of files and looking particularly grim. Hiyoshi probably hadn't gotten much sleep the past few days, either. He'd accompanied Yuushi on almost all of his late-night treks, and interrogations. However tired or frustrated he was, Yuushi knew the case came first—and although the questions (and answers) hadn't been of much help so far, he was grateful to Hiyoshi for having come with him. "Oshitari-san, there's—"

"Who's dead?"

It was bold, almost rude. Hiyoshi looked like he'd expected it. "Marui Bunta," he said slowly. "Of RikkaiDai. He died just an hour ago."

"Just an hour?" Yuushi repeated, startled. "Where?"

"At Yume's Restaurant. He was having dinner with somebody, I believe, and he just—collapsed, on the spot." Hiyoshi sounded perplexed; had they not determined the cause of death, yet?

"Russian roulette?" Yuushi guessed. That was, after all, what the serial killer had chosen to stick with for the past three murders.

"No bullet shots," Hiyoshi replied. "They're still determining the cause of death. It seemed pretty spontaneous."

Spontaneous was the wrong word for it.

Yuushi stood up and reached for his jacket. "We should go, then."

* * *

By then, it had to be at least nine PM, but there were people on the streets, anyway. He walked with a brisk pace, Hiyoshi—for once—struggling to keep up. Yuushi wasn't in the best of moods.

There was quite a commotion in front of the restaurant. Yuushi shouldn't have been surprised. The case had drawn a great deal of attention—particularly since it'd yet to be solved. A serial killer; he supposed he would've been interested, too.

He made his way to the center of the crowd, Hiyoshi close behind. "Another person," Yuushi said to himself, and nodded at the police officer. There'd been talk of bringing the government's personal officers and intelligence agencies into this, but Yuushi hoped to end it before it got that far. He didn't care much about the glory—being an investigator, things were bound to get mixed up, and chances were, you wouldn't end up with credit, anyway. But it was a personal case—his friends, his teammates, his rivals.

Why was someone killing these people, anyway?

He supposed there would've been reason to kill Niou; a celebrity made enemies, and Niou had a tendency to make more enemies than the average person. But Choutaro had been a saint. Shishido had been killed almost immediately after. Marui, too. He wasn't in any ridiculously high position, and he didn't have any enemies.

Yuushi assumed so, anyway.

"Get out of the way," an officer was saying. "This is a professional investigation."

But nobody seemed to be listening.

There was a girl, a young lady in the midst of it all, pushing past people and demanding entry into the restaurant. "Where is he?" she screamed. "Let me through! I need to find him, I need to—!" Her eyes were rimmed with red, and Yuushi realized she'd been crying. She screamed, screamed hysterically.

Yuushi thought she looked familiar, with the long silver hair and brilliant blue eyes. He might have seen her somewhere before—she had a memorable face, and her voice was familiar. She pushed and shoved past all the spectators and pounded on the restaurant doors furiously. Her expression was wild, but she was rather pretty, he thought, and walked up to her. "Are you, by any chance, Niou Masaharu's sister?"

The girl stopped her screaming for a moment, and gave Yuushi a look. "I am," she said thinly. She was polite, at least. Slightly. But her temper was short. "And I'd like it if you'd get out of my way."

Her tone was biting. Yuushi nodded briefly at her. "If you'd like to come through, follow me," he said. The girl seemed bewildered, but did as he said.

The restaurant wasn't a mess—it seemed perfectly ordinary. _Perfect. _He was learning to despise that word. The only thing amiss was the lack of people. As far as he knew, this was a fairly popular restaurant. The owner greeted him warily, and led him to a table near the back. The girl ran past him, looking panicked.

Yuushi heard a scream—but it wasn't an angry one, this time. It was shrill, still shrill, and still hysterical. But she sounded miserable, despairing. He walked to the table in the back, and saw that Niou's sister was on her knees, wailing, clutching someone's pale, pale hand.

Marui.

There was no blood in sight, but he was too pale to be human, too pale to be alive. His mouth was slightly agape, lips almost blue, and his violet eyes were lifeless, glassy and dulled. His posture was slack, his head tossed back, slumped in his seat. He looked sort of like he was asleep—with his eyes opened.

The girl wailed again, a loud keening sound. "You can't," she pleaded, shaking Marui's arm frantically. "Not you, too. I can't, I can't! I lost Masaharu already, you can't _do _this to me, you _idiot, how could you do this to me—_" She was crying again, hysterically crying. "Come on, Bunta, wake up! Wake up, you moron, you idiot, you stupid, stupid, _stupid—_"

Yuushi wanted to cry with her, and nudged Hiyoshi. "Call his family, and the RikkaiDai tennis team," he said quietly. The tennis team was like a second family; however dysfunctional it was, they'd been together for years, nearly a decade. Hiyoshi gave a quick nod, a pained glance toward Marui, and stepped aside.

A police officer stepped up to him. "We have a witness."

Inui's glasses glinted. "Good afternoon, Oshitari."

"Inui?" he asked slowly. "Why are you . . .?"

Inui took a deep breath, and looked mournfully at Marui. "I was having dinner with him," he said with difficulty. "I saw him die."

Yuushi sighed. "Then you'll have to come with me." He gestured for Inui to follow him, and walked deeper into the restaurant.

Inui was silent the entire walk there, and Yuushi couldn't determine whether or not it was out of shock. Seeing somebody die—right in front of him, nonetheless—had to have been a startling experience. Marui, he knew, was a vibrant person; how could he have died of something so—so quiet?

Thinking back to the restaurant, Yuushi decided there couldn't have been many places for the murderer to hide. A bullet shot would've drawn attention; and that was already eliminated, anyway. But why there? Assuming the murder was premeditated, the murderer would've had so many other opportunities to strike. Why at a restaurant? It was a popular restaurant, too; there were bound to be witnesses.

But then, in a popular restaurant, with so many people—what were the chances? Anything could have been passed off as ordinary.

The room they went to was completely silent. It was probably one of those private dining rooms Atobe liked to reserve so much, and from the looks of it, it hadn't been used in a while. Yuushi seated himself in a mahogany, velvet-coated chair, and motioned for Inui to do the same.

"So?"

"We were having dinner," Inui repeated. "He invited me. I thought it random, but I didn't see any reason to say no. So I went. Everything was normal; we ordered, made small talk. He asked me how my company was going, and such. It was going smoothly. Then we ordered, we ate, and made some more small talk. I didn't see much point to it."

Yuushi frowned. "I believe you," he said slowly. "But that's not a detailed enough account."

Inui was silent for a moment, then replied, "I can give you a detailed account, if you'd like. But you may want to take out a notepad and pen." Without further warning, he continued, "I walked into the restaurant at 7:13 PM. Marui was already outside, leaning against the left column of the restaurant. He gave me a forty-two degree wave in greeting, and I followed him to the eighth table of the restaurant. There were approximately fifty people already present in the restaurant, and they paid us no mind. I sat in the seat facing him, exactly twenty-nine feet from the kitchen, and he sat thirty-four feet from the kitchen. Our order was taken at 7:19 PM. I went to the restroom, and returned at 7:23. We spoke of irrelevant things, like the weather and the tennis circuits for approximately seventeen minutes. Then our order came, and we ate. He ordered lemon iced tea, a strawberry parfait, and a Caesar salad. I ordered pasta and lemon iced tea. We spoke some more. The waiter asked if we'd like anything else at 7:40. We said no. At 7:52, Marui collapsed. I assume something was affecting either his thymus or his pituitary, because his breathing was labored and his lips twitched. The manager tried giving him resuscitation, but didn't succeed."

He looked at Yuushi's notes, which were written neatly, word for word on the notepad. "Impressive note taking."

"Thank you," Yuushi said briefly. "Did you notice anything out of the ordinary, at all?"

Inui shook his head. "I apologize."

Yuushi hesitated. "If you could," he said slowly, "do you know who that girl was? The one with silver hair and blue eyes. She's Niou's sister, I believe."

"Oh, her." Inui nodded. "That's Niou Haruka. She's Niou's elder sister by barely a year. Her blood type is A, she was born on January thirteenth—"

"Why is she here?"

Inui hesitated. There was obvious pity in his tone when he replied, "I believe she—cared very deeply for Marui."

Yuushi should have guessed; it must have been hard on her. _Cared very deeply, huh? _He thought back to Niou's sister with a sense of pity. Had Marui reciprocated? Yuushi, for a moment, hoped he hadn't realized the girl's feelings. It was painful to live knowing one's feelings weren't reciprocated, but a thousand times more painful to know the person loved you in return, and then have that person taken away from you. The poor, poor girl—to have lost the two men she loved most, in such a short period of time.

She had nobody but herself, now.

* * *

It was six AM. People were just beginning to wake, heading off to work. Yuushi had spent the night at his office, but he didn't wake—because he didn't sleep. And now he was walking around the streets, watching as civilians roamed the streets, rushing to catch the bus or the train.

Some time after the investigation, the medical experts had informed Yuushi that it was death by poison. Someone poisoned him—specifically, his glass of lemon iced tea. He imagined it would've been much more painful, dying by poison.

Cyanide. Cyanide poisoning. _Haven't you read the mystery books, Marui? _Yuushi thought sarcastically. _Didn't you realize your tea smelled like bitter almonds? Didn't you see it?_

Cyanide, silver cyanide. Poured into his glass, glinting like death. Death in a cup, that's what it was. Death in a goddamn cup.

He could've punched someone. It was such a waste—four people, now, with so much _potential. _Gone.

Cyanide poisoning was that much more deathly. A bullet shot would've killed him instantly. He would've had a split second of fear—and then, nothing. But cyanide! He had to have realized it, realized it a second too late. He would've had to lie there in fear, fear for three hundred seconds, five minutes of torture, waiting for the poison to set in, letting the poison set in, feeling the poison set in. He would've felt ill, realized that he couldn't breath, realized that something was tampered.

And he would've realized that there was nothing to be done about it.

The RikkaiDai tennis players had mixed reactions. Yukimura and Sanada were both burning sadness and cold fury, and Jackal in particular had been devastated by the loss of one of his best friends. Kirihara was hysterical, and Yagyuu had to stop him from punching Marui's pale, pale face.

_Niou, _Yuushi thought, _would've been miserable. _They were best friends, he knew—the two of them had been extremely close. They'd both been two of the most lively people in the group. And they were both dead.

He couldn't quite grasp it. Four deaths, four deaths, four deaths—it played and replayed in his head, like a broken record. If he didn't solve it quickly, he knew, he might be next. It surprised him that he hadn't been murdered yet—there hadn't even been any attempts. He was, after all, the one trying to solve case. He should've been first.

And he _was _trying to solve the case; he'd made a halfhearted effort to wrap his head around Marui's death. It occurred to him that Inui may have been the murderer—he was in the most opportune position to do so. But surely someone like Inui would know better than to attempt murder in such a crowded place, especially if it was premeditated. And something about this murder didn't quite fit in with all the rest. He wasn't sure what.

And here he was, wandering in circles. It was early morning when he first walked out, and before he knew it, he'd been walking for two hours. Those who had the day off (or had the luxury of starting work late) were chatting, laughing with friends and strolling.

Yuushi meandered.

He didn't know how much longer he could deal with this, deal with anything, deal with everything. He wasn't a morning person, and his thoughts were still swampy. So he didn't think, just moved. Most people didn't give him so much as a glance, and for that he was grateful.

_"Sorry you can't trust me."_

_"You're too tense."_

_"I'm Gakuto. You're Yuushi. I'll always be Gakuto, and you'll always be Yuushi."_

And soon he found himself back at the park. It was near the restaurant, he realized, to his dismay. Only two blocks away. He could've gone there, could've gotten there in no time. Marui wasn't a personal friend of his—but another murder, another person . . . _I could've stopped it, if I'd known. _

He walked aimlessly, retracing his steps. There was nothing more to do, at this point—he had the data, he had whatever he needed to solve the case. But he was putting it off, off and off and off.

Yuushi really didn't know why.

A flash of red caught his attention. It was wine-red, cranberry red—Yuushi turned around and saw Gakuto, passing by. He was walking with—was that Hiyoshi? What were they doing together? He hadn't realized they were still in touch.

It was; they were chatting amiably, and Gakuto was laughing, carefree. They both had ice cream cones in hand, and Yuushi briefly wondered if it was a—

He hadn't seen Gakuto like that since he was fourteen. Why now? Why there? Hiyoshi seemed to be telling some sort of story, making wild hand gestures and imitating some sort of action hero. Gakuto laughed along and added some hand movements of his own.

And suddenly, they were walking quietly again, talking about something warmly and fondly. No awkwardness, nothing different; and Yuushi felt something clench. Something like a mix of anger and disappointment. But it wasn't either of them, not really. He'd only felt this once before, back in middle school, when Gakuto was paired up with Hiyoshi for the Nationals. He hadn't minded; his coach knew best, and even he'd agreed with the strategy. But he hadn't liked it, hadn't wanted it. He never said it, of course—but it was there, all the same.

Gakuto's ice cream melted, and some of it dripped onto his collar. Hiyoshi laughed, and Gakuto gave a halfhearted retort. Yuushi watched, just watched as Hiyoshi took a napkin and wiped it off.

_Don't touch him, _he thought. _You can't touch him. _

They were still laughing, Gakuto not making much of an effort to push him away.

_Don't let him touch you. _

But who was he to think those thoughts? What right did he have?

(Who was he to Gakuto, anyway?)

(Just someone?)

(Anyone?)

He watched them for a moment longer, wishing Gakuto would be as carefree with _him, _wishing Hiyoshi wasn't so close to him, wishing Hiyoshi would leave, hurry up and leave. They were silly wishes, and he hoped for them anyway.

But Hiyoshi stayed, kept talking, kept laughing, and Yuushi was the one to leave. It wasn't until five blocks of walking later that he realized he was jealous.

Jealous of whom? Hiyoshi? Maybe. He didn't ponder the 'why's. But it occurred to him that might also have been jealous of Gakuto, for being able to be so—happy.

Yuushi hated this jealousy. He especially hated it because it was a false sort of jealousy, not passionate enough to truly be called envy, but not faint enough to be passed off as nothing. It wasn't in him to be jealous; he was no Atobe, but people were supposed to be jealous of him, to want to be him. He was jealous, he knew. This was jealousy.

And yet, he didn't want to do much about it.

It occurred to him some time ago that he might have been in love, but only now could he disprove that hypothesis. He cared very much for this new Gakuto, enough to be jealous. He'd seen Gakuto with Hiyoshi, happy without him, and he'd been jealous. But he didn't love him, and he didn't care enough to go over there, to drag Gakuto away from Hiyoshi and claim him for himself.

That moment in the dance club, Yuushi had caught a glimpse of the Gakuto he was in love with. Dancing, laughing, outgoing-carefree and brash, reckless to a virtue. He had wanted to dance there forever, to never go back, and to never let go.

Gakuto, Gakuto, Gakuto. He had considered asking him out. But Gakuto had shown no particular interest in him, and after seeing him with Hiyoshi, happy, so happy-Yuushi wasn't sure if he ever would. Besides, asking out this Gakuto would be a failure. It was a trap, a paradox, a cul-de-sac. It was a trap, he thought.

He could have rambled in circles, ranted and argued and debated with himself for hours. In the end, it came down to only this: There wasn't anything to be done about it. New Gakuto, it seemed, was here to stay. And Yuushi would be doomed to liking him, never being able to love him, and still being jealous, so jealous-but without the passion to do anything about it.

And never had he once thought that he'd be the one caught, the one left behind, the one chasing after Gakuto, never close enough and always too far. That Gakuto, loudmouthed and rude, all sharp edges and brash retorts-

And this Gakuto, quiet and dignified, all refined points and subtle finesse. He liked this Gakuto, he really did-it was everything he could've wished for; someone practical, elegant, a high society type, artistically talented, with a Midas touch. This Gakuto was perfect, and he was fond of him, so fond of him. He'd never liked someone quite so much before. He was jealous of anyone who got near him.

But something was lacking.

There was a sparkle missing, flashiness lacking, rudeness and recklessness and silliness and all-missing. And there was a sensation missing, a jumping of the heart, a clench of the stomach, a dizziness and a happiness and a sort of relaxation, all missing. He realized now why he hadn't noticed his feelings before.

He was awfully fond of this new Gakuto. He liked this new Gakuto, liked him very much.

He wished he could love him. But this Gakuto wasn't the one he was in love with; this Gakuto, he knew, had everything but potential. With him, Yuushi could never be sure. With the old Gakuto—rude, loud, brash Gakuto—even if Gakuto ran away from him, said he hated him, followed Hiyoshi to the park without him—

Just thinking back to the park made him upset. He could've done something. Walking in the park like that, no care in the world. Being _so close _to a murder site and not even realizing it!

He was only a few feet away from his penthouse, now—he stopped walking. People stared at him, wondering why he had such a stricken look on his face.

_Gakuto, _he realized. They were at the park, the day of the murder. Then Gakuto . . .

Left. He'd left.

The park was a few blocks from the restaurant. Anyone would've had ample opportunity to—he could've—

_Gakuto, you—?_


	12. Lambency

If you want to figure out who the murderer is, this is definitely the chapter to do it! It's like, a chapter of clues and whatnot, so make the most of it, 'kay?

(And I know I was supposed to update _Romeo and Juliet _first, but I really couldn't help it. This chapter is over ten thousand words, which is like, happiness in a bottle.)

_Also! _(I've got to stop with these crazy author's notes.) **Challenge! **:) Maybe, haha. See, I really, really like Disney. Well, old Disney. New Disney is awful, but the classics—Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, The Little Mermaid, Mulan, Alice in Wonderland, Robin Hood—that stuff is awesome. And I especially love the songs they sing. So I'll be using five references to those songs—like, sampling a line—or even just a phrase. They can appear in any of my stories or summaries—starting now. The person who can catch all five of my references gets to request anything at all—multichapter, saga, poetry, or just a oneshot. I kind of doubt anyone's going to get it all, haha, but it'll be fun! Embrace the classics!

* * *

Yuushi was listening to rock music, which, in itself, was a bit of an odd thing for him to do. He was known for his classical tastes—classical music, classical literature, classical everything. But at the moment, a Metro Station song was blaring from his iPod, which he'd put on speaker. _Seventeen Forever, _he recalled, and smiled wryly.

It was an American song, and it'd been Gakuto's favorite.

He honestly doubted Gakuto had paid attention to the lyrics back then, but it would've been appropriate, even if he hadn't. Forbidden love, eternal youth, wanting something to last forever—Yuushi almost laughed at the irony.

_One mistake from being together, _he thought.

The song was a little too melancholic for his tastes—at the moment, anyway—and he waited until the song was over, before switching to another one. Gakuto had always loved the band Metro Station; their songs had a catchy rhythm that practically defined him, and were easy to dance to. Those were the only two things Gakuto ever looked for in a song. Yuushi wondered what his tastes in music were, now.

Probably the Tannhäuser Overture.

They used to be so different. Yuushi had liked that—he'd liked so much about him. Liked how brash he was, liked how silly and crude and rude and reckless he was.

If Yuushi had wanted a high society type, he'd have married one of those stuck up, refined ladies his mother had introduced to him.

_One mistake from being together._

The next song was _Shake It, _by the same band—same catchy beat, same danceable quality. Yuushi closed his eyes and listened. His English was decent, and as far as he could tell, it was just about a boy who'd met a girl, a girl who could dance. There were sexual undertones, he supposed, but almost every song in the world had those. He couldn't understand why Gakuto had loved these songs so much back in school, but he fathomed it now.

It was easy.

It was the same reason he went to clubs and danced. It was easy, so easy to just find a random stranger and listen to the music, dance along, and think about nothing. Living like that, like every day was an eternity, like one may or may not live to see the next.

Yuushi found it to be an enviable quality.

Pretending nothing had ever happened might have been easy, too. Pretending none of the clues pointed to Gakuto, pretending he _could _fall in love with him, pretending he had no feelings for him at all—he could do it, if he tried. Even if Gakuto were the murderer, he doubted he'd be able to convict him, arrest him. He wondered if he'd be able to, if he really did have to.

Yuushi wondered if it'd be worth it.

His phone rang, and he almost didn't hear it over the blare of the iPod.

_Gakuto?_

He answered it, but didn't turn off the song. It was loud enough to hear over the phone, he knew, and for a moment, he hoped Gakuto would recognize it.

"Hello?"

"_Yuushi? Are you… occupied?"_

(_You busy?)_

"No," Yuushi said.

_"If you're available, would you like to meet up with me? I'm completely free today."_

_(Wanna hang out? I'm so bored.)_

"Sure. Where, and when?"

_"Would the museum be adequate? I haven't seen it since I moved. And, right now, if you'd like."_

_(Let's go to the museum. I miss it. Let's go now, since you're not doing anything, lazy Yuushi.)_

"That'd be fine; I'll see you there."

_"Thank you, Yuushi. Oh, if I may ask—what is the song you're playing?"_

_(Cool. Nice song! By Metro Station, right? What's the name, again?)_

Yuushi felt his hopes rise for a moment. "A song by Metro Station. Do you know it?"

_"It sounds familiar."_ A pause. _"Although, it's awfully loud. I'll see you there, then. Good bye."_

_(Right, Shake It, I love that one! You're not playing it loud enough, Yuushi! Alright, see ya.) _

Dial tone.

Everything Gakuto should have said. Everything Gakuto did say. Opposites, opposites.

Yuushi wondered if Gakuto really didn't recognize it. It wouldn't have been completely surprising, admittedly. He held the phone in his hands and turned it over, stared a hole into it, as if that'd provide him with his answer.

He was completely at a loss.

The museum wasn't too far from where he lived, and he grabbed a jacket before leaving. It was still fairly early morning, and he'd intended to work on the case.

He decided it could wait. And, somewhat guiltily, he realized that talking to Gakuto could help him with his case, whether Gakuto meant to do so or not. He used to be an open book, used to wear his heart on his sleeve. He'd probably learned to lie by now, but Yuushi decided it was worth a try. There wasn't much to lose, was there? Marui was dead, Choutaro was dead, Shishido and Niou were dead. He texted Hiyoshi, and told him he'd probably be out for most of the day.

_If you can do some of the office work on your own, I'd be very grateful, _he'd said.

Hiyoshi had responded with a _No problem, _but Yuushi still felt guilty.

He walked. It wasn't a long trek, and he knew he had plenty of time before the museum opened. It was still winter, but he felt as though the weather was warmer. It wasn't snowing today, and for once, the sky wasn't gray. He wondered if that was a good omen.

It was the end of January, and he couldn't say he was looking forward to February.

There were a few people gathered by the museum, probably tourists. They were chattering excitedly to themselves, and talking about some new exhibition. Yuushi realized that he hadn't been to the museum in a while, either.

"Yuushi."

With a barely noticeable jolt, Yuushi realized he'd walked right past Gakuto—and almost right into the (closed) museum doors. "Oh," he muttered under his breath, and turned around. Gakuto greeted him, trying to hold back a laugh. Yuushi smiled. "What brought this on?" he asked, gesturing to the museum.

Gakuto glanced at it, then looked back at Yuushi. "I've done a lot since I came back to Tokyo," he said, "but I spent most of my time talking to the Japanese lawyers and businesspeople. The museum is a bit more relaxed."

Yuushi nodded in reply, and almost sighed. It wasn't the response he'd been hoping for, but it'd have to do. "Why don't we go for a walk? We have almost fifteen minutes until the museum opens," he offered. _Say yes._

"Okay," Gakuto agreed. They walked down the museum steps in silence, Gakuto taking confident strides, but eyes looking down. Yuushi would've thought that he was insecure, but he didn't know, anymore. Fifteen year old Gakuto used to walk with a swagger, and look down when he was nervous.

_Let's say he is nervous. What about?_

He noted that Gakuto looked up every few seconds, then looked away. Once or twice he opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and made some offhand comment about how the weather was improving.

Yuushi commented, "Do you remember—back when we were seventeen? We always came to this museum. Whenever—"

"Whenever your mother brought you a new engagement candidate," Gakuto finished. "Yes, I do. I met some of them with you."

"They were awful," Yuushi said, with some degree of amusement.

"They were elegant," Gakuto defended. "High class. Well-mannered. Your family liked them."

"They always did like those types."

"They were perfect for you. You needed somebody like that—someone you could rely on, and someone who'd complement you."

Yuushi let out a breathy laugh, and shook his head. "I was more interested in playing tennis," he pointed out, "with you."

"Your parents didn't like _that,_" Gakuto said under his breath. He still looked tense, and Yuushi wished he'd tell him just what was going on.

"Do you want to tell me something?"

Gakuto's head snapped up at the comment. "Why do you ask?" he asked, his voice carefully steady. His gaze didn't waver, and his pupils didn't dilate, but it made sense—it wasn't a lie.

Yuushi held the stare, and for a moment, he thought he saw something waver. " Is it something important? Can't you trust me? I know it's been a while," he said softly, "but we're still Yuushi and Gakuto, aren't we?" He hated how hopeful his voice sounded—desperate, almost. He didn't do desperate. He never did desperate. He had never, _never _been desperate before.

He was desperate.

"It's not that," Gakuto finally said. His voice sounded like it'd crack, but he held it steady. "Some things I can't tell you, okay?"

"You don't want to?" Yuushi persisted. "Or you can't?"

"Both," he snapped. "Drop it."

"No," Yuushi retorted. "You've been acting strangely ever since you arrived in Japan. You grew up, fine." Gakuto seemed to flinch at that. "I don't see how anything else has changed."

"Nothing changed; that's the problem," Gakuto said. "Don't do this."

"Don't do _what_? Talk to you? You invited me here, didn't you?"

"You agreed to it."

"I didn't think we'd be walking in silence for two hours. How dare I assume that I'm actually allowed to talk to my friends," Yuushi replied sarcastically.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" He loathed being frustrated, but for once, he couldn't help it. What was the secret? What could possibly have been so important that—

Yuushi stopped walking.

It took Gakuto a moment to realize that he was walking alone, and turned back to see Yuushi standing there, stricken. "What?"

"Gakuto, did you . . . ?"

"Did I _what_?"

Was he trying to confess?

To the murders?

_Gakuto's not the murderer, _he told himself, fiercely. _Can't be. _

He shook his head, and caught up with him. "Never mind," he said quietly, and tossed his head back. _Why do I keep doing this? Ruining this? Why did I bring it up? _He should've known—he'd never have been able to convict Gakuto, if he were the murderer. He prayed Gakuto wasn't.

"Can we please not talk about this?" Gakuto asked softly, and looked up at him with pleading blue eyes. "One day. Just for today."

Yuushi was startled by the offer, but shook his head. "You don't have to talk about it, ever," he replied, "if you don't want to. I'm sorry."

It wasn't his fault, but it wasn't Gakuto's, either—and he'd been the one who'd brought it up. It wasn't fair, this tension.

"I'm sorry, too," Gakuto murmured, and took a deep breath. "I'd like to tell you," he confessed, "someday. Just . . . not now. But I really do want to tell you."

"Thank you for that."

"Mm." Gakuto turned away again, looking bothered by something. Yuushi took in the sharp curve of his jaw, his brilliant eyes, an odd mix of blue and grey. He took in his crimson bob, the way it just barely grazed his chin, and thought, _He's beautiful. _

"Do you want to head back?"

Gakuto nodded his agreement, and in one casual pivot, turned around. _Must be the years of dancing, _Yuushi mused.

Then Gakuto looked away, and Yuushi felt something cold and smooth touch his hand. He looked down, startled. Gakuto's hand, small and pale in comparison. _How did that hand play La Campanella? _Yuushi wondered, distractedly. There was something—something about that gesture that was distinctly Gakuto-like. He liked that.

It was the shy, but reckless sort of thing fifteen-year-old Gakuto would've done. Except it would've been accompanied by a loud, careless comment, about how Yuushi's hands were calloused from playing the violin—or something like that.

And then Yuushi realized they were holding hands.

And Gakuto initiated it, of all things.

There were a hundred reasons why Gakuto might have done that, but Yuushi chose to focus on just one, however silly or far-fetched it might have been. Folly of youth, he decided. _I'm not even thirty yet; just turned twenty-one. It still applies._

It was amazing how this one little gesture could cause so much of a stir. Just because it was akin to teenage Gakuto. It was like being in love with a ghost. He considered telling Gakuto that—that he was fond of him, but was in love with his ghost.

_What a scene that'd be._

He twined Gakuto's fingers with his and walked back to the museum.

**

* * *

**

Hiyoshi laughed. Yuushi was very, very close to scowling, had he not realized at the last moment that scowling would've been rather petulant of him. "So that's why you were in a bad mood," Hiyoshi said, still grinning. He was sitting in Yuushi's chair, in Yuushi's office, and leaned forward, fiddling with one of the pens. "You should've told me! I'd have explained."

"I didn't think you had anything to explain," Yuushi said icily.

Hiyoshi shrugged. "Not to me. But Oshitari-san, I didn't think you were the jealous type."

"I'd prefer it if we ended this conversation now." Yuushi grimaced.

Hiyoshi held up his hands as if to surrender, still holding the pen. He clicked it a few times. "If you want," he agreed. "But it was nothing, really. I hadn't spoken to Mukahi-san in a while, and I wanted to catch up, that's all. And—" Here, he smiled a little. "—I wanted to see your reaction."

It wasn't too difficult to put two and two together. "You knew I was watching?" Yuushi wasn't sure whether to be upset or impressed, and settled for putting both hands on his desk and leaning forward. "What was the point?"

"To see if you'd actually do something about it," Hiyoshi snorted. "You're so slow. If you're not going to work on the case, you may as well work on your nonexistent love life." He smiled a little—wryly—to take away the sting in his words. "Did it work?"

Yuushi thought back to the conversation he'd had with Gakuto that morning. "No."

"Why not?" Hiyoshi inquired, genuinely concerned. "He was in a pretty good mood this morning."

"I know," Yuushi said. "It vanished."

_Because of me._

"He was happier with you," Yuushi continued flatly.

"That's not true. He wanted to see you—besides, you're Oshitari Yuushi. Flashy, handsome, talented, tall, dark, and mysterious." Hiyoshi let out a laugh. "I'm the one nobody remembers," he joked. "Maybe he was just tense. Mukahi-san is more fond of you than he lets on, if you ask me. Did you bring up the case again, or something? You know he doesn't like gloomy things like that."

"I don't know much of anything about him, anymore," Yuushi replied flatly.

"Sure you do. You're thinking too hard about it. If you put half as much effort into the case . . ." Hiyoshi pressed.

Yuushi cracked a smile and held up his hands, mimicking Hiyoshi's gesture. "I understand," he said, amused. "I'll get to work now."

Hiyoshi nodded firmly, and rose from Yuushi's chair. "This is important," he insisted. "You can't let this go on anymore." He hesitated. "But Mukahi-san is important, too."

"I know."

The two of them stood in silence for a few moments, then Hiyoshi made to leave. "I'll get you some coffee, if you want. My shift ends now, anyway."

"I'll pass, thank you."

Yuushi watched as Hiyoshi approached the door. He _was _grateful for what Hiyoshi did—it'd been a chance for him to sort out what was left of his social life, and he was thankful for that. It was kind of Hiyoshi to think of him, and it was so like Hiyoshi to notice that the miniscule problem existed in the first place. He remembered the feeling of Gakuto's hands, so small, so petite, in his own. He recalled the cool, smooth, porcelain touch, and said:

"Hiyoshi."

The blonde turned around and looked back. "Yes, Oshitari-san?"

"Thank you."

Hiyoshi shook his head knowingly. "It's okay," he said. "It's a present. For my senpai-tachi."

Yuushi smiled a little, and Hiyoshi walked away.

**

* * *

**

Yuushi took his jacket with him and left his office. It was a good day—fairly warm for winter—and he felt like going for a walk. He'd read over the notes before he left, but the notes weren't really what interested him, in any case. He'd decided to pursue criminology because of the psychology behind it all. And he couldn't figure out anything psychological while sitting in a stuffy office with a heap of paperwork.

It wasn't too hard to read over the notes, or to draw the conclusions. The hard part wasn't even piecing it together.

The difficult part was trying to make sense of it.

Shishido's position, and the general setting of the murder both suggested that he'd been asleep when he was murdered. The murderer obviously didn't have to worry much about a struggle, or anything like that. Given the estimated time of death, there were probably little to no people around, and so the murderer didn't have to worry about being seen.

Niou and Choutaro hadn't shown signs of a struggle at all, even though their fingerprints hadn't been found on the gun. It couldn't have been suicide under pressure, or anything like that. They willingly—or unconsciously, perhaps?—allowed the murderer to shoot them. It was a perfect shot, right through the temporal lobe. It could've been done from a distance, but it didn't seem likely. Niou had specifically been spotted walking up the stairs, and looking excited about something. He was the type of person who enjoyed the chase, enjoyed provoking people and letting them down. He was the type of person to play by the game, and however much of a trickster he was, he played by the rules. His death, as someone had said, was to his liking. It was dramatic, attention-gathering, spontaneous and random.

Choutaro, on the other hand, was particularly meek. He was submissive, quiet, obedient, naïve, caring—almost to a fault. He would've been easily fooled by the murderer—but even Choutaro couldn't be that naïve. He wouldn't have risked his life for someone who'd killed Niou, one of his closest friends.

It didn't make sense.

Shishido had probably been an easy target. He was in a state of shock and misery, and might have trouble even walking up straight. Yuushi realized long ago that Shishido had constantly blamed himself for the loss of Choutaro's inheritance. The brunette was someone from a middle class family, and might not have understood that Choutaro wanted nothing more than to work and be happy with his best friend—which he was. They'd been living happily, working happily. Everything was smooth, content, peaceful. Choutaro didn't want the inheritance—he'd never been one for extravagance. And although Shishido (though dramatic) wasn't one for profligacy, either, he might have thought that Choutaro was entitled to it.

Yuushi stopped walking for a moment. The air chilled, and for a moment, he wondered if it was going to snow. It was in the middle of the afternoon, and many people were wandering the streets. The sun's rays shone upon him directly, but despite it, he felt cold. He was back by the park, and something occurred to him.

As it was, Shishido had nowhere to go but downward. His best friend had been killed, and he was lost. Yuushi had discerned that much from his appearance, when he'd last seen him. His business would have spiraled downward, too. Yuushi had no doubt that Shishido wouldn't have been able to carry on. He'd have ended up bankrupt, and living in misery for the rest of his life. Choutaro had died at the peak of his happiness, and Shishido at the bottom.

It was almost a good thing that the murderer chose to kill him at that point. It was almost an act of pity, Yuushi thought. Shishido had been about to fall, anyway. Dragging it out would only have hurt him more.

The murderer almost certainly didn't need to have much physical strength. The gun was easy to wield, and so far, all the deaths had been easy to manage, in terms of strength. Three of the deaths were by shooting, and the third was by poisoning. It could have been coincidental, but the methods implied that the murderer was weak, physically.

All the deaths except Marui's were caused by a fatal bullet wound. It was odd; why change the method now? Although, he couldn't have killed Marui with a gun in public. Still, he'd managed to catch Niou, Shishido, and Choutaro in private.

How had he managed to kill Marui, anyway?

The only one with the opportunity was Inui, but he had absolutely no reason to, whatsoever. Inui had no motives for killing Shishido, Niou, or Choutaro, either. It didn't make sense.

It was odd that Choutaro's and Shishido's deaths were done without invoking any suspicion from neighbors. Either Choutaro had introduced the murderer to his neighbors prior to the murder, or the murderer was already an acquaintance of Choutaro's. If that was the case, then it'd make sense that the neighbors didn't suspect seeing the murderer with Shishido, either.

But _somebody _should have found it suspicious, even if they knew that the person was a friend of theirs. Somebody should have noticed it.

In the end, it only made sense that the murderer was someone both Shishido and Choutaro were familiar with. They were both close to Niou Masaharu, as well—as was Marui. Yuushi wasn't sure how close Shishido and Choutaro were to Marui, but they had to at least have been acquaintances, given their common friend in Niou.

Yuushi stopped by a park bench, old and worn, and considered this for a moment.

Marui's death didn't seem premeditated. Something was off about it. For a premeditated death, the murderer was sure to have given something away—he wouldn't have tried to pull such a stunt in public. It didn't fit the murderer's psychology; he was clever, quietly so. The personality needed for a murder like Marui's required a brashness and recklessness that the murderer may have had, but wouldn't have put into play.

The murderer was definitely brash, definitely bold. It took someone bold to kill Niou, especially at a reunion among celebrities.

But boldness wasn't recklessness.

A flash of red caught his attention, and he stood up, walked a little. As he got closer, he realized it was Eiji, bouncing on his toes and talking to someone excitedly.

Inui?

The glint of his square glasses and the dark hair proved that it was Inui, as did the monotonous quality of his voice. They were talking too quietly for Yuushi to truly understand what they were talking about, but Yuushi had always had a predilection for eavesdropping. Absentmindedly, he noted that they were talking in a fairly secluded area—and that aside from him, there didn't seem to be anyone in the area. He doubted that Eiji nor Inui realized he was listening, anyway.

And then he caught the name "Fuji".

Yuushi strained a little harder. What in the world were they talking about?

"But thank kami-sama," Eiji was saying gratefully. "I was so sure—!"

". . . doesn't make sense," Inui put in. He looked confused, and a bit suspicious. Everybody lied. He knew that. But nonetheless, Yuushi strongly, strongly disliked it when people lied to _him. _"It . . . his mental instability . . . equations . . ."

". . . a mistake?"

". . . can't . . . the file . . . accurate . . . I'm not . . . that. Fuji's . . . doesn't fit . . . what happened with . . . realize some . . ."

Eiji had a tendency to speak more loudly when he was desperate or trying to defend something, which was how Yuushi caught the entire sentence. "Fuji's _mental instability,_" Eiji said, and practically spat out the words "mental instability," "has nothing to do with this!"

Mental instability?

Inui shushed him, and Eiji blushed wildly. "Sorry," he muttered, and continued the rest of the conversation in whispers.

Fuji—mentally unstable?

Yuushi left.

**

* * *

**

Finding Momoshiro didn't take long. He didn't have a client at the moment, and was seated in his office, playing with a pen and eating from a bag of chips. Yuushi threw open the door and in three brisk strides, approached Momoshiro's desk.

_"Explain."_

Momoshiro looked surprised. "What?" he asked, bemused. "Are you drunk, Oshitari-san?"

If the matter hadn't been such an urgent one, Yuushi would've taken the time to be insulted. "Fuji's mentally unstable?" he asked, ignoring the question. "I heard—a few people talking about it. Why didn't you tell me this? Fuji was Niou's psychiatrist, wasn't he? Why was he allowed to be a psychiatrist if he was mentally unstable? What did they do during their sessions?" Then, "I know you lied about not knowing what they did, during the interrogations."

The barricade of questions led to the effect he wanted. Momoshiro's eyes widened, and then he laughed weakly. "Nothing to be done about it, nothing at all," he muttered to himself. "I didn't think it was too important, at the time."

"What wasn't important?" Yuushi demanded. "Let me decide what's of importance and what isn't. That isn't your place."

Momoshiro smiled. "Won't you have a seat?" he offered, gesturing to the chair opposite his own. His smile was carefully practiced, meant to be warm and disarming. It almost worked. Yuushi glanced at the seat and then back at Momoshiro, whose smile had yet to falter.

"Will this take long?"

"Probably," he said.

Yuushi wasn't in the best of moods, and sat in the seat grudgingly. "Explain," he repeated.

Momoshiro sighed a little, barely audible, and folded his hands. He glanced around a few times, then pulled out a folder. The contents were sifted through for a few seconds, then a single sheet of paper was pulled out. "Fuji-san is perfectly sane," he said, and held out the document for Yuushi to see. "This is the official document. He's sane."

"Then what were Kikumaru and Inui talking about?" Yuushi glanced over it. It looked accurate, and as far as he could tell, it was the real thing. He handed the paper back to Momoshiro, who handled it with the utmost delicacy.

"Eiji-san and Inui-san?" Momoshiro repeated. He looked vaguely surprised, and a little worried. For whom, Yuushi wasn't sure. "How did they—?"

"Nothing stays a secret for long," Yuushi said grimly. "What were they talking about?"

Momoshiro put the paper back into the manila folder, and the folder back into the drawer. He took a moment to look around, and stepped out of his office to see if there was anybody at the door. Nobody appeared to be present, and, satisfied, Momoshiro went back inside. "Fuji forged something," he explained. "He wanted to get closer to Niou, but because Niou already knew him from our tennis teams, Niou wasn't all that interested. He needed something extra, that would really draw Niou's attention. Niou's met plenty of people by then, you know? He's seen everything." He opened the bottommost drawer and pulled out another document, handing it to Yuushi. "So he forged this."

Yuushi looked it over. The paper was almost identical to the one he'd looked at earlier, with only one difference. It read that Fuji was a diagnosed schizophrenic, and that he was under rehabilitation. He had to admit, the paper looked completely viable. "You didn't report him?" Yuushi inquired.

He shook his head. "Nah. Fuji-san is my friend; and besides, I didn't think it'd do any harm."

"Why was he so interested in Niou?"

Momoshiro's expression darkened. "I've worked with Niou a few times, before," he said. "Niou-san is good person, he really is. But—it's very complicated."

"I have time."

"He had this strange interest in people mentalities—Fuji-san and Niou-san both, actually. That was why Fuji-san was so interested in Niou-san; they were a lot alike. But Fuji-san was much more subtle about it. Niou-san, though, had the means to toy with people however he liked. Fuji-san had charm, but Niou-san had more power. Fuji-san wanted to know more about him—because, well, Fuji-san likes puzzles."

"Mm."

"Niou-san was a bit odd, though." Here, Momoshiro looked confused. "He liked toying with people, but I never thought it'd come back to bite him, honestly. It was like a hobby, almost. He'd get close to someone, very close to them, to the point where that person is almost completely dependent on him. He has that charisma. People loved him. And then he'd abandon them—really suddenly. He'd just stop talking to them entirely, brush them off, pretend he never knew them, or insult them and drive them away if they chased after him. Most people couldn't handle the shock—especially since they were so dependent on him, you know? But Niou-san just went on like nothing happened, and found someone new."

Yuushi raised one eyebrow. "He enjoyed this?"

"He liked seeing people's reactions," Momoshiro explained. "It was a dangerous thing to do, but we never thought anything serious would happen. He made himself a lot of enemies, that way. Yagyuu-san knew this, and I think that was why he sent him to us. But I don't think he ever stopped; from what I know, he's been doing this for quite some time, now." He let out a sharp, barking sort of laugh. "If he'd tried that with a mentally unstable Fuji, he'd have gotten himself killed a long time ago."

"I can believe that," Yuushi agreed.

"Fuji-san knows a lot about this," Momoshiro continued. "Have you spoken to him?"

**

* * *

**

To Yuushi's surprise, Fuji was waiting for him as he stepped out of the building. "How was your conversation with Momo?" the brunette asked pleasantly.

"Adequate," Yuushi replied.

"Pleased to hear it."

Yuushi made to leave, but Fuji followed. "You actually seem to be doing some work," Fuji continued. "I'm so proud of you, Oshitari-kun. I'd love to help you, you know."

"I couldn't tell."

"I have my own way of helping." Fuji hummed a little.

"It can't be called helping," Yuushi replied, and veered away from him. Fuji followed.

"Just because you can't appreciate it doesn't mean I'm not helping you," Fuji protested, and walked ahead of him. He turned around, facing Yuushi, and began walking backwards. "Haven't I helped you with your love life?"

"No, you haven't."

"That's because you don't have one," Fuji said dismissively. "I've given you hints every now and again. You choose to ignore him."

"You insert lies along with your hints," Yuushi said. "It's almost impossible to discern truth from fiction when it comes to you."

"I'm flattered, Oshitari-kun."

"Wonderful."

"Just because I'm so flattered, I think I _will _help you." With exaggerated histrionics, Fuji leaned upwards and whispered into Yuushi's ear, "_Someone was following me here._"

Yuushi looked at him, startled. "How do you know?"

"Because I know who the murderer is," he replied easily. "Once you know _that_ . . ."

Yuushi was too busy to worry about his bruised pride.

Fuji was next, possibly—it made sense. He probably knew the most about this case, out of anybody. And it wouldn't surprise him if Fuji had solved the mystery already—it was slightly insulting, of course, but that wasn't really what mattered at the moment. "Do you think the murderer is targeting you?"

"Yes," Fuji replied flatly. "It's only a matter of time. I don't mind dying like this, really. No dramatics. A bullet to the temporal lobe is fine for me." Yuushi noticed that he didn't mention poison.

"Don't you have regrets?"

He laughed sharply. "Just because you do doesn't mean I do," he said. "I've made my peace already. I've even solved the case."

_How did I guess? _"Who was following you?" Yuushi asked firmly. "Just because you want to die doesn't mean the rest of Japan does."

Fuji's smile fell off his face. "I didn't say I wanted to die," he said quietly. "I just know I'm going to. Don't dispute it," he warned, when Yuushi began to protest. "I'm always right. I don't believe I've ever been wrong—I have a family of fortune tellers and psychics." He laughed again, and for a moment, Yuushi almost believed that Fuji was telling the truth, that he was ready to die.

The area was fairly deserted, mainly because most people were at work by this point. Fuji kept up with Yuushi surprisingly well, considering how tall the latter was. "Marui's death was a sudden one," Fuji said casually. "Don't you think it's odd? Really, why Marui? He doesn't have anything to do with this, does he?"

"You'd know," Yuushi pointed out.

"But you wouldn't." Fuji smiled brightly. "It's so obvious, Oshitari. Someone with superior intellect like yourself should have figured this out already. Or is it because you're distracted?"

Yuushi stiffened. "I don't know what you're implying," he said coolly.

Fuji hummed again. "If you say so," he replied. "Say, Eiji's been acting rather oddly around me, lately. You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?" His smile was half mischievous, half knowing. There was a mocking tone to his voice.

"He thinks you're crazy," Yuushi said flatly.

"I suppose Momoshiro showed you that document. Yes, Inui has somehow managed to get a hold of it." The brunette laughed a light, trickling laugh. "I know _that_. But there's another reason. Come to think of it, Inui's been acting rather strangely, too."

Yuushi refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how confused he was.

Fuji opened his eyes, and the shock of blue almost made Yuushi stop walking. "I won't help you, you know," Fuji said. "I don't want to."

"I realized that a very long time ago," Yuushi assured.

"It's nothing personal. But you'll fail completely if you don't do this on your own. Me telling you wouldn't help you, at all. It wouldn't be good for me, either. I will die—but I want to live." There was the slightest of tremors in his voice, and anyone who didn't know Fuji well wouldn't have noticed it.

"I wouldn't hold it against you," Yuushi replied, feeling sympathetic.

"I don't want _pity._" There was sincere distaste in his voice. "I want you to get a grip on your twisted life and figure this out."

_Fuji, _he noted, _is spiteful when he's upset._

"How's Mukahi?"

The smile twisting Fuji's face was a frightening one, but Yuushi didn't flinch. "He's well."

"Did you have a run in with him? In love yet?" Fuji teased. He was having too much fun with this, but Yuushi knew there wasn't really anything to be done about it. Fuji's humor was the type who'd make a typical person cry. "Confessed yet?"

"I don't love him," Yuushi said calmly.

"Oh?" His smile was still carefully in place. Yuushi decided it was a requirement for all psychiatrists, to have such carefully practiced smiles. Still, when he thought about it, Fuji always smiled like that.

"I will never love him." The words left an odd taste in his mouth.

"Did you get into a fight?" Fuji asked, tilting his head to the side.

"No," Yuushi replied. "I just—don't love him."

"Ah." Fuji nodded a little, and his smile turned from subtly disarming to overtly wicked. "Did he change too much?"

Yuushi had always marveled at Fuji's uncanny ability to pick things up so quickly. "Something like that."

"Pity we can't rewind time, isn't it?" Fuji murmured. "If only you'd kept him from going to France—if only you'd written more letters to him—if only you'd been closer to your friends, protected them more. Time machines are really wonderful in theory. Maybe then the murderer wouldn't have been—well, a murderer. But really, not being able to love him—that's a strange form of torture."

"It is," Yuushi agreed.

**

* * *

**

Fuji left him some time afterward, and Yuushi continued his walk in silence. Strange form of torture, indeed.

He'd taken a trip to Kanagawa simply for the hell of it. Tokyo was wonderful and bustling, but that wasn't what he needed at the moment. Kanagawa, while not particularly quiet and peaceful, was a little better. He didn't know this part of Japan very well, as he'd only come here a few times before—and most of those times were with Atobe, back in their tennis playing days. He found it incredibly amusing that Atobe never seemed to stop challenging Sanada, and lost match after match—and the one match he _had _been about to win had been stopped by Yukimura.

Yukimura. The Child of God, they called him, even now. He'd always been very perceptive. Now there was a character—Yuushi wondered if he'd have anything to say about the case.

Since he was in Kanagawa, he might as well. Most of the former RikkaiDai players still resided in Kanagawa, with the exception of a few. As far as he knew, Jackal had temporarily—only recently—traveled to South America for an internship with some politicians there. Yuushi suspected it was to get away from the murders. In any case, it seemed to leave him out of the equation—the murders had steadily progressed even without him there.

It surprised him that nobody else had thought to leave Japan. Maybe they thought they'd be suspected, if they did leave—whether or not they were guilty.

Yukimura, Kirihara, and Sanada were all taking a break from the pro circuits because of the case, he knew. It would've been bad publicity for them to continue playing, with the death of two of their friends. He doubted they were really in the mood to play tennis, anyway—Yukimura had been attached to everybody on the regulars, and Kirihara was especially close to Marui and Niou. Sanada, Yuushi suspected, cared for them as much as Yukimura and Kirihara did, even if he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve.

Kanagawa was somewhat well-known for its shrines and temples, and so he went to a Shinto shrine. It wasn't as quiet as he would have liked, and there were many tourists, coming in and out. People chattered excitedly amongst themselves, and for a moment, Yuushi stood to the side of the shrine, just watching.

He was agnostic, but wondered whether or not he'd ought to pray, if only for the hell of it. He never really saw the point in religion, and avoided it as much as possible. Choutaro, he knew, was Christian—and prayed weekly.

The shrine waited invitingly, and he walked up the stone steps, slowly and deliberately. People rushed by him.

Then, halfway there, he decided it was too crowded and descended back down the stairs.

There were a number of sub-shrines at this particular shrine, and he approached the farthest one he could see.

Much less people paid attention to the sub-shrines, which was odd—there were usually much more people there. He thanked his luck and knelt beside it, not really sure what to say. What was there to pray for, anyway?

He settled for sitting there and—well, not doing anything.

"Haruka-san, don't," somebody pleaded. "They would've hated to see you like this."

Yuushi glanced toward the trees. It couldn't be good karma to eavesdrop on four people in one day, but if he remembered correctly, Haruka was Niou's sister.

He didn't move.

"You mean well, Yukimura," Haruka replied. "I believe that." Yuushi edged closer, and saw that the two of them were sitting on a stone bench. "But you know how Masaharu was."

"He was protective," he admitted. "But he had good intentions."

"I know that," she said flatly. "I wish I could've explained it to him. Going behind his back, even after death . . ."

"You don't know if he would've disapproved. He didn't know it was Marui," Yukimura pointed out.

She seemed to brighten a little at that. "I suppose."

"The two of them were best friends," he continued. "He loved him as a brother, didn't he?"

"He did," she agreed. "Bunta was the one person other than Yagyuu-kun he kept in touch with, consistently."

Yukimura smiled sympathetically at her, and Yuushi wondered if he'd been the one to go to her. He recalled how distressed she'd been on the day of Marui's death, screaming hysterically. "Masaharu loved you, and he loved Marui. He would've been pleased to know that you loved each other."

There was a pause, then a light laugh. "I can't believe you're a year younger than me, sometimes," Haruka said fondly. They talked a little longer, about past encounters with Niou and Marui, and after a while, Haruka left.

Yukimura sat there in silence, and Yuushi questioned whether or not he ought to leave.

"You can come out now, Oshitari-kun."

Yuushi's eyes widened, then he chuckled wryly and stood up. Yukimura was still by the tree, patting a patch of grass next to him. "Sit."

"Was that Niou's sister?" Yuushi asked.

"It was." Yukimura nodded. "She's been rather depressed lately—I'm sure you can guess why."

"Inui mentioned something."

"Mm." Yukimura gave Yuushi a glance as he sat down, and murmured, "How far did he get?"

"Only said that Marui was in love with her."

"And she loved him, I assure you." Yukimura hesitated. "This may help you with your case, and that is the only reason I'm going to tell you," he said firmly. "If you repeat this to anybody, I will personally make your life miserable."

"I believe it."

"Marui was in love with Haruka-san," Yukimura acknowledged. "Very much so. But the two of them—well, they weren't sure how to explain it to Niou. He was rather protective. And Marui didn't have a very good record with girlfriends, either. He was a bit vivacious—never really wanted to stay with one thing for too long. But he did love Haruka-san; I think they would've lasted, if . . . _this _hadn't happened." He made a vague gesture.

"So?" Yuushi prompted.

"They kept it a secret," Yukimura replied. "Haruka-san hinted at being in love to Niou occasionally, but he never responded well. They never did tell him."

"Surely his protectiveness couldn't have been that extreme?"

"It was," he said wryly. "His younger brother died, remember? He's always had a bit of a family complex—and I must admit, he could get rather obsessed with these things. Haruka-san, in any case, was loyal. If she'd gone against his wishes, he could have crashed. The death of his brother was hard on him—I think that might have partially been the reason why he and Yagyuu were so close."

"Oh?"

"Yagyuu's younger sister left the family," Yukimura said. "She didn't die—but she made the decision to go to Europe for a study-abroad program when she was fifteen. She just—stayed; she hasn't been back to visit even once since she left. Yagyuu misses her dearly; he's the type who needs somebody to look after. Niou was, too."

"I see," Yuushi murmured.

"Marui was awfully broken up after Niou's death," Yukimura continued. "Very dark. He may have been looking for somebody to blame. In fact, I think he may have suspected somebody from Seigaku. We—Sanada, Kirihara, Marui and I—met with a few of the Seigaku members, about an exhibition match—Tezuka, Inui, Oishi, and Eiji. Marui was silent the entire time."

"How odd," Yuushi said, thinking back to the conversation he'd overheard.

"In any case, they kept the relationship a secret. I wish they would've told him."

"Why?"

Yukimura thought. "I'm very certain that Niou would've approved of it," he said confidently. "They didn't need to hide it. Niou loved them both dearly, and if he'd known that Marui was in love with her . . ."

"How can you be so sure?" he inquired.

He laughed. "Cheesy as it sounds," Yukimura said, "love is a powerful thing."

**

* * *

**

Gakuto definitely had the opportunity. He was there, he wouldn't have been suspected, being a close friend of almost all the victims—he'd been rather close with Marui, and especially close with Shishido and Choutaro. In fact, almost everyone from Hyotei had a possible motive.

_It's not him, _Yuushi thought petulantly. _It can't be him. _

It couldn't be, couldn't be—the other deaths seemed to be results of Niou's death, and Gakuto rarely spoke with Niou at all.

Gakuto, Gakuto.

Yuushi was taking the bus back from Kanagawa, and glanced at his watch. The stop was only five minutes away, and even then, he'd have to make a ten minute trek back to his office. The warm weather earlier this morning had long since died, and at the moment, it was below zero.

He was freezing—but suspected that his chills had very little to do with the weather.

Trees flew past, and each building the bus passed by was cold and silent.

But the memory of Gakuto's hand in his was warm.

He knew he'd be happy with this new Gakuto. His parents would be happy with him, too—he was exactly the high society type he was supposed to be with. But he thought back to Ohtori, who'd given up his inheritance to continue the business with Shishido, to live with him, enjoy his company, and be happy with him. He thought of Shishido, who'd been willing to confess to a crime he hadn't committed just to protect his friend, and wondered if he'd do that for this new Gakuto.

He doubted it.

But he knew he'd do it for fifteen-year-old Gakuto, brash Gakuto, rude Gakuto, silly Gakuto.

He wished he'd come back.

One more stop, and he'd be home. He looked at his hand and wished for that feeling again.

And then he laughed.

_This is an awful lot like a romance novel, isn't it?_

He remembered how he used to make Gakuto watch those sappy movies with him, how he made Gakuto read those romance novels.

He remembered the face Gakuto made every time he did so, and how it'd made him laugh.

The bus doors opened, and he stepped off, taking a moment to check where he was.

There he was.

Gakuto, in his pea coat and ascot scarf, dressed to kill. Yuushi began to call out a greeting, then fell short. He wished he were wearing that old hoodie, with the fur trimmed hood and sleeves. He wished he were wearing a beanie the way he used to, and sneakers instead of boots.

He began to turn around, but then Gakuto called, "Yuushi."

_Why am I running away from him?_

Yuushi looked at him, looked at his smile and wave. He mimicked the movements and took stilted steps toward him. "Good evening," he offered. "Why are you out?"

Gakuto looked at him carefully, and Yuushi wondered what he saw. "I went out to dinner with Jiroh," he explained. "He's been down lately."

"He has," Yuushi agreed.

"With Marui's death, it's not really surprising," Gakuto muttered. He seemed distinctly uncomfortable, not at ease, but then again, Yuushi really wasn't, either.

No, now that he thought about it—Gakuto didn't seem uncomfortable. Just . . . distant.

He wondered if he ought to ask him about that morning. The touch of his hand still lingered. He tightened it into a fist, then released it.

Gakuto watched him openly, half distracted, half curious. It was probably more out of habit than anything, but he tilted his head to the side, if only marginally, and for a moment, he looked like—fifteen year old Gakuto. It was only a hint, but he was—okay with that.

"The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam," Yuushi said sardonically. He hadn't wanted to say it aloud, but the silence was deafening, and he doubted Gakuto would understand what he meant, anyway.

They stood like that for a few moments, then Gakuto smiled a little. "I've been seeing you around very much lately," he joked. "Is the murderer following me?"

_The case._

Yuushi murmured, "That's a perfectly viable explanation, actually."

He hadn't meant to say _that _aloud, either.

Gakuto's smile fell. "Is this about Marui's death? I've heard about it from Jiroh, you know, you don't have to—"

"Just heard about it? Are you sure that's all?" The words were sharper than he'd wanted them to be, and he mentally berated himself. Why couldn't he just—_talk_?

He didn't get an immediate reaction, but noted that fifteen year old Gakuto would've started yelling and kicking and punching. With a quiet sort of anger, the redhead asked, "What do you mean?" The look in his eyes darkened, and they seemed to freeze—whereas fifteen year old Gakuto's eyes would've been alight with fire.

Yuushi wanted to say more, wanted to get this whole thing settled, but turned away and replied, "Never mind it.

"Never mind what?" Gakuto asked sharply.

"_Nothing,_" Yuushi said firmly. "Forget about it. How was the dinner with Jiroh?" Standing still was getting to be overbearing, and he began to take small steps—away from Gakuto, toward his office. He glanced back, to see if Gakuto was following.

He wasn't. He didn't look angry, just hurt, but it was so subtle that Yuushi couldn't be sure. His eyes were hard and he commented, "You don't have to tell me. I wouldn't expect you to." His tone was biting, and Yuushi had learned enough about psychology to know this was a defense mechanism. "I've figured it out, myself. We can't even have a civilized conversation for two minutes. How can someone change so much in a year?"

Yuushi gave a disbelieving laugh. "You're talking about me? How _I've _changed so much? Gakuto, do you hear yourself? Have you seen yourself?"

The redhead's expression darkened. He looked like he wanted to say something, then thought better of it and turned away.

"It's been three years, not one."

Gakuto shook his head. "That's completely irrelevant."

"Don't run away," Yuushi warned.

"_Me_?" Gakuto demanded. "I'm the one running away? Really? Stop being a coward and accusing me—why don't you look a mirror before you start telling me how _I've _changed?" He took a frustrated step forward, and Yuushi realized perfunctorily that Gakuto had finally lost his temper. "You're the one who can't hold a conversation. The instance in the coffee shop, the incident this morning, today—I'd call it a self-defense mechanism, but since you don't have anything worth defending, I'd call it guilt. And there's a clear difference between now and when we were fifteen, but you don't realize just how blatant it is, do you? You—"

"Stop arguing like a lawyer," Yuushi interrupted.

"Lawyers tend to argue like lawyers," Gakuto said dryly.

"You're _not_!"

"Not what? A lawyer?" He laughed acidly. "Sure I am. We swim in shark-infested waters because we _are _sharks. We ruin families. We argue. We get _paid_—a lot—to argue. We enjoy it." The look in his eyes was practically maniacal—this was exactly how Gakuto used to act when he was angry. Go on a crazy rant, act a little insane— "Yes, I'm a lawyer, what with my cold, cold heart," he said scathingly. "Or, you know what? Lack thereof. Are you happy?"

"I could almost love you," Yuushi said. "You're exactly the polite society type I'm supposed to be looking for. You play the piano, the clarinet, you're a lawyer, upper-class, you don't argue, you don't yell, you're not rude—you're perfect. I like you. And I could almost love you." _'Almost' being the key word, _he thought. "Was that cowardly?"

The look on Gakuto's face would've been amusing had Yuushi not been so caught up in his monologue. His first reaction seemed to be, _What does that have to do with _anything? Then surprise. Then hope. Then happiness. Then distress. Then his face fell and he looked down. Something sparkled and Yuushi wondered if he was crying.

Yuushi froze. _What did I just say? _

"Okay," Gakuto replied weakly, and nodded a little.

"Wait," he began.

"I'm sorry," Gakuto said. "I have to go. It's getting late, and I—" He already backing away, making some vague hand gesture. And before Yuushi could take one step forward, Gakuto had taken five steps back. And then he was gone.

Yuushi covered his face with one hand, not sure if he was angry, saddened, disappointed, or just confused.

**

* * *

**

He used to love Gakuto.

He realized this as he began to leave, tired and slumped. Back when they were playing doubles together—he used to be in love with him. Everything used to be so much easier.

His office was dark, less gloomy than before, thanks to the efforts of Choutaro and Shishido, but still dark. He decided he was never remodel this office, if only to follow that last piece of advice they'd given him, for the rest of his life.

He passed by the music store, and took a few moments to walk inside. There was a new pianist inside, playing a contemporary piece. She was completely lost in the music, and her eyes were closed, hands gliding across the keys. It was admittedly beautiful. But Yuushi thought it lacked something, lacked a quality that Gakuto's music had.

The people gathered around the piano were different this time around. The lighting was different, everything was different. He'd never have that moment, that New Year's moment again.

One moment of being completely carefree and spontaneous. Because Gakuto was spontaneity, and spontaneity was Gakuto. And that moment _was _spontaneous. That was why he longed for it so much.

_The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam._

There were a thousand "why"s he could have asked. Why Gakuto changed, why _he _changed, but he decided it'd only serve to complicate things. And matters were complicated enough as they were.

He left the music shop, and listened as he walked, as the piano music trickled into nothingness.


	13. Deviation

You'll notice that there's a part in the story where I include Gakuto's point of view, too. It only made sense—and writing Gaku is so much fun. I really did have way too much fun writing this.

(And most of you guys got the first reference, haha. It was pretty easy—but the next reference(s?) is/are, too.)

If you really want to find out who the murderer is, you should probably do some background checks on the Prince of Tennis characters. There's bound to be something there that will give it away—but you'll find out who the murderer is in the next chapter, anyway. Two chapters left.

* * *

Yuushi had gone back to his office for the night, and ended up sleeping there. It was around two AM when he woke up again; to Hiyoshi's incessant knocking. Yuushi didn't bother with the door—if Hiyoshi wanted to come in, he certainly had the means to; he had a spare key. Yuushi couldn't be bothered with anything at this point—especially since he hadn't slept much.

It annoyed him that Gakuto acted so calm about the whole thing. He didn't even know why—it was unreasonable and illogical, but if anything, nothing had really been logical since the murders started happening.

Especially since almost all the murders pointed to Gakuto.

He had the opportunity. He had intelligence. He had the means to do so—there wasn't anything else to consider.

Yuushi didn't know how he'd ever manage to turn him in. If he did. It killed him; how was he supposed to convict somebody he cared so much for? They were friends first—but now that he thought about it, after what happened yesterday, he doubted it.

Hiyoshi had looked rather upset when Yuushi explained what happened, demanding to know why he'd screwed everything up. Yuushi wasn't in the mood to justify himself, and had calmly asked Hiyoshi to leave. That wasn't the nicest thing to do, probably, but what had he been expecting? Why was Hiyoshi taking such an interest in their relationship, anyway?

"Yuushi."

He looked up as the door opened. Hiyoshi walked in, with a hesitant Gakuto in tow. Yuushi was too tired to do anything, and settled for staring in bemusement. "Yes?"

Hiyoshi shoved Gakuto in the room, bolted, and slammed the door shut.

_That _got a reaction.

Gakuto whipped around and started knocking at the door, while Yuushi jolted upwards from his seat and cursed Hiyoshi under his breath.

It took a few moments for them to settle.

He looked at Gakuto, who was leaning against the door, exasperated. "That Hiyoshi," he muttered. "Gotten arrogant over the years, hasn't he?"

"He was arrogant to begin with," Yuushi replied flatly.

They waited in silence for a while, listening as Hiyoshi's footsteps faded away. "So, what brings you here?" Gakuto asked mordantly.

"I'm solving a case. It's not working out well."

Gakuto looked annoyed. "I'm sorry," he told him, not sounding sorry at all. "When do you think Hiyoshi's going to get back here?"

Yuushi snorted. "Probably never. He's locked the door from the outside. Give me a second—I'll look for the key." It was buried somewhere under all the papers on his desk. So maybe he wasn't the nicest person at two in the morning. He didn't bother trying to hide the files this time—Gakuto could think whatever he liked.

He fumbled with the heap of papers while Gakuto stood by the door, idly.

"Sorry," he finally said. "About yesterday. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

Gakuto shifted uncomfortably. "It's not your fault."

Not his fault. Of course he'd say something like that. _Lose your temper, _he thought. _Why won't you lose your temper? _"You probably won't think that the next time we see each other," he muttered. A flash of silver caught his attention, and he pulled the key out from beneath a manila envelope.

Gakuto's eyes flickered to the papers on his desk. "Something about the case?"

"You could say that." He passed Gakuto by and unlocked the door.

He didn't move; Gakuto gave him a long, considering glance. "Something about me?" he asked dryly. "Am I a major suspect now? Arresting me next week?"

Yuushi gave him a surprised look, but didn't say anything to refute it.

". . . you're serious?" Even then, his voice was perfectly balanced. Yuushi resented how calm he was, how in control he was. Gakuto wasn't supposed to be like that—he wasn't.

"It's classified."

He didn't fall for it. "How could you even think that?" Gakuto asked in disbelief. "Do you really think I'd do something like that? Kill Choutaro? Shishido? Do you think I'm that twisted? That crazy?"

"I don't know," he bit out. His voice was tense, trembling with emotion, and he resented it, resented even more how steady Gakuto's voice was.

"You're going to have to be more specific," Gakuto replied sharply. "How can you not know? They're your thoughts, aren't they? You're being illogical—"

"I'm being illogical? You're being _too _logical. We haven't had a single conversation wherein you didn't try to psychoanalyze me! There's no jury, no verdict here, Gakuto. It's just us." And that, Yuushi thought, was a thousand times worse.

"I don't know what's with you," Gakuto said, exasperated. Something in his eyes flickered. "I come back, and you're—different! I don't know what you want me to do! Am I not allowed to mature? Am I not allowed to _stop being fifteen_?"

Yuushi was tempted to roll his eyes. "That's not my point and you know it."

"Then what is your point?" he demanded. "What do you mean? You've been playing word games ever since I came back to Japan. You lead me on and drive me away—what's your point? That I'm a psychotic serial killer? Do you really not know me better than that?"

"You may as well be the murderer," Yuushi spat. Gakuto's eyes widened—in anger or surprise, Yuushi wasn't sure. He didn't care, either. "I _don't _know you better than that, I _don't _know you'd never do something like that—I don't know you at all. Who knows what France has done to you?" There was a sort of dark humor in that, but nobody laughed. "How did you change so much, Gakuto? How is it even possible?" He laughed harshly. "You've always been good at achieving the impossible, haven't you? You've always been spontaneous—at least that's stayed the same, or I'm sure I wouldn't have recognized you at all.

"I don't know what you hoped to achieve by playing like this, but I'm asking you to stop. What happened to you? Did you do it on purpose? Change on purpose? Why? Was it amusing? Did you take some sadistic pleasure in it?"

Gakuto's eyes, brilliant blue, darkened to an ugly grey. His delicate features twisted into a mix of shock and fury. "How _dare_ you?" Those words were laced with venom, but Yuushi paid them no mind.

"Did it help? Was it entertaining for you? Have you had your fun?"

Yuushi wanted to stop, he did—but he couldn't. Three years of pent-up frustrations poured out, and while he knew this conversation was practically suicidal—he couldn't _stop. _It was relieving, and yet it was a thousand times more angering. Gakuto was quietly frustrated, quietly angry, like ice—ice so cold that it burned to the touch. That was what his eyes looked like—chips of fire-ice, so cold, burning, burning cold. And he wanted to melt them so badly, wanted to watch them sink, get swallowed by the fire that was _Gakuto, _really Gakuto—not this icy interpretation of him. This wasn't Gakuto, it wasn't. He'd believe that to end of his years—this wasn't Gakuto. He didn't want this Gakuto, not at all.

He didn't want anybody.

Nobody would ever be fiery enough, arrogant enough, lax enough, wild enough—it was a foreign ghost in Gakuto's body, and if he couldn't have Gakuto, _that _Gakuto, the real Gakuto—he didn't want anybody.

He laughed, a half-nervous, half-delirious laugh. He supposed his eyes looked drunken, feverish with freedom. _I don't want anybody. Don't regret it, don't regret it. _"It's over!" he laughed, and took one step forward. Gakuto took one step back. "It's _over._"

The silence that followed was deathly.

Yuushi sighed, a draining sigh, and closed his eyes.

_I. Want. Nobody._

(And yet, he was still faintly aware of how badly he wanted to love him.)

His shoulders slumped. It was unbefitting act for somebody like him. He shouldn't have lost control like that—Gakuto had remained perfectly composed throughout it all, even with Yuushi's rant. Gakuto had changed—it was over. It was a habit of his, to go on a long tirade and then lose the energy to keep it up. He amended it by not losing his temper at all—but that hadn't worked out too well. Nothing to be done about it now; what was the point of dragging him into this mess, anyway? He opened his mouth to apologize. "Gakuto, I—"

"Shut the _fuck _up, Yuushi."

No venom, just fire. Yuushi looked at him, looked carefully. Gakuto's hands were trembling, and he'd taken one step forward, two steps, three steps, until he was directly beneath Yuushi.

Two petite hands, the same hands that had played La Campanella, those pale, fragile hands—shoved him hard, and sent him stumbling backwards.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Gakuto demanded, shouting at the top of his voice. "Quit harping about how I changed, you fucking jerk! You haven't changed a fucking bit, and you know what? Maybe you should have. Maybe you should've changed every single fucking thing. Of course you're still goddamn dense and you can't see past an act. Of _course _you can't tell I've been in love with you for the past fucking eight years, can't tell I changed everything for _you, _and now you're complaining about it to me, you fucking _bastard._"

Yuushi was still trying to take in this sudden personality change. A spitfire—that was exactly what Gakuto was, at that moment. Crazy, loud, obnoxious, crude—this was him, this was who he was looking for.

_An act?_

His breath caught in his throat.

_He's in love with me? _

Gakuto continued, "Weren't you looking for a high society type? Didn't you want someone classy? Didn't I go all the way to fucking France and go to fucking law school and graduate first year at the top of my fucking class?" He took another step forward, and this time, Yuushi was the one who took a step back. Gakuto clenched his left hand into a fist, then raised it—punched Yuushi, square in the jaw. He took deep, heavy, furious breaths. "And I come back, and all you can do is rant about how I've fucking changed—what the _fuck _do you want, Yuushi? What the hell do you want from me?" His voice was choked. "I did _everything._"

Yuushi touched his jaw, probably bruised and definitely swollen, in disbelief. _What just happened?_

"Make up your fucking mind! Didn't I do what you wanted? Wasn't that what you were looking for? Wasn't it?"

But Gakuto's voice was a peculiar cross between infuriated and miserable, and Yuushi, for the first time in three years, realized he recognized the redhead standing before him.

"Gakuto—" His voice was weak, shaking, disbelieving, not daring to hope—

"You don't know who I am?" Gakuto gave him a long glare, piercing and blue, so blue—transparently blue, like it'd always been. "Well, congratulations! I don't know who I am, either," he spat. "Nice game. You've won."

Like a whirlwind, he stormed out of the office, flinging the door open and slamming it closed. The sound was thunderous, but nothing compared to the sound of his heart pounding_, tha-thump,_ _tha-thump_, steadily wild, carefully reckless, subtly loud.

His legs felt weak, and he stood, dumbfounded for a few moments, before they finally gave way.

He fell to his knees.

It was an act.

The whole thing—it was an act.

He'd found him again, found Gakuto. The Gakuto he was—is—madly in love with.

And now he'd lost him.

…

The more he thought about it, the more he realized it made sense.

…

_"I'm Gakuto. You're Yuushi. I'll always be Gakuto, and you'll always be Yuushi."_

…

_"I'm not fourteen anymore, Yuushi."_

…

"_The stuff there is so classy that you kind of adapt, I guess."_

…

What's at first an act can become a habit—there was a saying like that, wasn't there?

Yuushi was still numb.

The side of his jaw was an angry red, and his legs still felt weak. Gakuto had only just left, really—but it felt longer, so much longer. He wondered if it was the argument that had finally sparked Gakuto's anger, or if it was just the pressure of acting so long—or both, possibly?

Gakuto playing classical music, looking so at ease. Arguing like a lawyer, talking like a lawyer—he'd morphed himself into the perfect high society type, changed himself entirely. Maybe that was what he'd meant when he commented on Niou's death.

…

_"Even if some people deserve to die."_

…

He wondered if Gakuto thought he deserved, too, if he'd thought that the act was such an unforgivable crime.

Yuushi recalled how Gakuto's eyes had dared to look hopeful when Yuushi finally confessed. And he recalled how his face fell a moment later. Was that why? Knowing that Yuushi was fond of this new persona—fond of an act?

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Why in the world had Gakuto thought he needed to change, anyway? Yuushi was a bit outraged by the idea—then realized that it might have been his own incessant flirting. Those "proper young women" his mother had introduced him to—he'd had no actual interest in them, but Gakuto mightn't have known that.

And Yuushi was always such a gentleman, himself—was that what it was? Needing to live up to something?

Gakuto, he admitted, had exceeded him in all aspects of that.

…

_" Of course you can't tell I've been in love with you for the past fucking eight years, can't tell I changed everything for _you _. . ."_

…

He was still breathless.

He had to find him . . .

He had to find Gakuto.

**

* * *

**

What the _hell _had he been thinking?

Gakuto's strides were long but stilted, and he staggered his way back to the hotel he was staying at.

If he wasn't going to follow through with it—why act in the first place?

It wasn't just France, wasn't just the acting—he'd hoped, would have been happy if even for a moment, a split second, Yuushi loved him. He'd wanted it so badly, had come so close to having it—and then he'd let it go.

Why act?

It was a game of make-believe, in the end, just a fantasy—and as wonderful as fairy-tales were, he'd learned at an early age that they'd never come true.

When he was younger, he used to believe he could fly. Being so lithe and light, he'd managed to master the art of acrobatics, and then came to love tennis, with his acrobatic techniques. His Moon Salute had always been an exhilarating feeling—like he could fly. Being ten, twenty, a hundred feet into the air, flipping, and then falling back down to Earth, because he was no bird, no angel—no wings, no flight. But he savored those few seconds as much as he could, and thought of them in his dreams.

Being around Yuushi was kind of like flying. It was the feeling of flying without actually doing it—flying in a dark, midnight blue sky, one that fiercely resembled Yuushi's eyes.

It was a stupid sentiment, he thought. A really stupid sentiment. Stupid dreams.

He'd chased them, anyway.

He'd gone all the way to France, studied, been accepted into a prestigious university, attended a spectacular law school, graduated at the top of his class, and been offered a job at one of France's biggest law firms. He'd picked up two instruments, learned them at an astonishingly quick rate. He learned how to charm, how to stay composed. Etiquette was easy to learn, especially since he came from a high class family, himself. He'd carefully chosen the people he associated himself with—chose high class, polite gentlemen, proper young ladies, and adapted to them in no time at all. It was painful to do, but he'd resisted—never really knowing what for.

And then he'd come back to Japan.

He'd gone to the reunion, seen that some of his friends really hadn't changed at all—realized that some people didn't even recognize him, and wasn't sure if he ought to be proud or horrified. He'd seen Yuushi, who was much the same as always—and almost faltered.

His friends, meanwhile, were being killed off, one by one. He could barely keep up his new image, but it was easier than he thought—what was at first an act could easily become a habit, he realized. He was ashamed of it, almost.

That night in the club, he'd almost lost the will to continue with the façade. It was so much fun, dancing like that. For a moment, he was himself, dancing, reckless and wild. But it was only a glimpse, and he hid it away the moment the night ended. He'd chosen to go to Japan with this façade, and he'd follow through with it.

And it still didn't work. Yuushi suspected him for _murder, _of all things. When he finally realized it, Gakuto was devastated. How could he? But it was too late to turn back, and he decided if nothing else, he'd stay consistent, stay steady. Yuushi could doubt him all he liked.

That day in the park, that morning they went to the museum, Gakuto wavered. He'd seen how stunned and miserable Yuushi was, and he wanted to cry for him. Instead, he reached for his hand. The morning had gone peacefully enough.

It was the evening that ruined it all.

He'd just had dinner with Jiroh, and it'd all been wonderfully pleasant. They joked around like old times, and in a moment, Jiroh saw through the act that nobody else did.

…

_"Hey, Gaku."_

_"Hm?"_

_"Why are you pretending? You still love him, right?"_

…

He'd still been slightly in shock when he saw Yuushi, and when they argued—he'd come so close to just giving it all away. But before he had a chance to lose his temper, Yuushi lost his own, and Gakuto realized that to an extent, his act worked.

…

_"I like you. And I could almost love you."_

…

He was terrified.

What was he going to do? This wasn't him—he'd made Yuushi fall in love with act. Just then, he realized how cruel it was, how awful it was—it was a heartless thing to do, just like a prank.

And yet he'd been—(still was)—so in love with him when he'd decided to begin the act. He'd done it in the hopes that Yuushi would love him, and now that he had it—he didn't want it, not like this.

He wanted Yuushi to love _him, _and even if acts became habits—it wasn't him. It'd never be him, however much he wanted it to be.

Gakuto kept running until he was a safe distance away from the office. He was in an unfamiliar neighborhood—it'd been a long time since he'd last been to Japan, and he realized he didn't really remember how to find his way around.

There weren't many people around. He stumbled into an alleyway, and waited until he was safely alone before he allowed himself to cry.

**

* * *

**

He'd seen the general direction in which Gakuto had run, and followed blindly.

…

_" Of course you can't tell I've been in love with you for the past fucking eight years, can't tell I changed everything for _you _. . ."_

…

How had it taken so long for him to realize?

And he'd wanted it so badly.

Gakuto had practically told him, that morning.

…

_"They were elegant. High class. Well-mannered. Your family liked them."_

…

_"They were perfect for you. You needed somebody like that—someone you could rely on, and someone who'd complement you."_

…

Why hadn't he paid more attention to that?

It explained why Gakuto was so stunned, when Yuushi implied he had a secret, when he implied Gakuto wasn't telling him something.

It wasn't about the murders.

It was . . . this.

He didn't know whether he ought to be ecstatic or exasperated.

Why did Yuushi have to be so—_stupid_?

Why did Gakuto have to believe something so stupid?

Yuushi looked around franticly. He'd begun to wander, not really sure where he was going. He didn't often go to this area of Tokyo, and it was a quiet neighborhood, not many people. He staggered forward, looking around and running as fast as his legs would take him.

Then he heard a choked sound, and turned back around.

A flash of red, devastatingly red against the grey air.

He forgot how to breathe.

"Gakuto," he whispered.

There he was, slumped against the brick wall, hands clenched into fists, eyes looking down, wide and unfocused. The sky was grey, and the partly obscured sun cast a strange light on him. It illuminated his tears, made them look like liquid crystal against his pale, pale skin.

"Gakuto," he repeated, a little louder.

Gakuto's head snapped up, and he looked at Yuushi in surprise. And then he took a step backward, as if he wanted to run. "Yuushi," he said uncertainly.

"Gakuto, why didn't you tell me?" Yuushi asked suddenly, all in one breath. In three quick strides he took Gakuto by the arms. "Why act?"

The redhead looked skeptical. "Drop it," he said slowly. "Seriously. Just drop it."

"You can't possibly expect me to leave something like this alone," Yuushi replied, disbelieving. "Tell me."

"I did," Gakuto blurted, annoyed. "You almost fell in love with a façade, and I did it on purpose! I'm sorry, I swear I didn't mean for it to go like this—I don't know what the hell I was thinking, and then it was too late, and I—" He broke off, looked down, then looked back up. His voice cracked, was completely desolate, bewildered, like he couldn't understand it either, as he whispered, "I wanted you to love me."

A pause. Then Yuushi moved closer. "I do."

"You don't," Gakuto said quickly, looking a tad panicked. "It was an act, it wasn't real. It was a mistake, I'm sorry—"

"I do love you." The sky darkened a little more, and Yuushi wondered if it was going to rain. He pulled Gakuto into an embrace, Gakuto's back to him. He took both of Gakuto's hands and held them in his. They were trembling. "I do."

"You don't," he breathed, sotto voce.

Yuushi ignored it. "I'm in love with you."

Gakuto faltered, then slumped against him. "You're not," he replied pleadingly, "and it's my fault. I'm _sorry._ Leave me alone, please." But he didn't seem to have the strength to pull himself away, and Yuushi tightened his hold around him. "We can pretend this never happened. I'm good at acting." There was a tint of dark humor in his tone. "I'm going back to France, anyway, so I—"

"I love you," Yuushi murmured.

"Stop saying that; you don't! Stop with it already!" Gakuto whipped around and gave him a hard stare. "I'm not going back to that," he said slowly.

_I've said it. It's over. _

He swallowed back any regrets and continued, "I'm not acting anymore." He took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking—There are hundreds of people in Japan who actually are like that, who don't have to act—just . . . go to them, or something. Let me go." His voice shook. _That's it. After eight years—I'm just handing him away. _He resigned himself to it, and tried to stifle the sudden urge to cry.

"I love you." Yuushi decided he'd repeat that for the rest of his life if he had to. It sounded so perfectly sweet, perfectly honest—and he wanted to lavish Gakuto with it, everyday, every moment if he'd allow it.

"Are you _deaf_?" Gakuto demanded. "I'm not acting anymore! It's not—me!" He was beyond frustrated, wondering what the hell it'd take for Yuushi to _get the fucking hint—_had he always been this dense? He'd spelled it out for him—multiple times—hadn't he?

"Are _you _deaf?" Yuushi asked softly. "That's exactly what I want."

"For me to be deaf?" There was genuine confusion in his tone, and Yuushi almost laughed.

"No," he replied. "You wouldn't be able to hear my declarations of love if you were deaf."

Gakuto turned a pale red, and looked away. "Stop it, Yuushi," he said, his words choked. He sounded as if he were about to cry—his words were breathy, trembling, and his expression desolate. "I'm _sorry._" He lifted an arm and brushed it against his eyes violently, and Yuushi thought he saw something liquid sparkle in the light.

"Why in the world would you think that I'd wanted a polite society type?" he inquired, pulling him closer and closer until his chin rested on top of Gakuto's head. "Did I ever tell you that?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Gakuto replied flatly. He pushed himself away from Yuushi, and took a staggering step from him. "Why wouldn't you?"

"I love you," he said, and pulled him back. "You. Not—whatever you were pretending to be."

Hope dared to flare in Gakuto's eyes, still brilliant, still blue. "You don't mean that," he said halfheartedly.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Why . . . ?"

"Of course you're still dense," Yuushi murmured. "Of course you can't tell I've been in love with you for the past eight years."

…

_"Of course you're still goddamn dense . . . Of course you can't tell I've been in love with you for the past fucking eight years . . ."_

…

Gakuto's eyes widened.

"I was fond of the act," Yuushi acknowledged. "But I love you_._"

Shock, nonsensical stammering, inelegance—Yuushi looked at it, all wonderfully transparent on Gakuto's face, and never thought him more beautiful. He could see it all, every act, perfectly visible. His heart on his sleeve again, everything spelled out. "Yuushi . . ." he said, dazed.

Pure joy. That was what it felt like. Gakuto's face was still swept with disbelief, but Yuushi had recognized his victory—he allowed himself to laugh, fully laugh, allowed it to ring clear. And then he couldn't stop, because this was all just so ridiculous—the entire situation. It was like the world had played a practical joke on him, and he couldn't help it—he laughed.

"Silly Gakuto," he whispered, and leaned in to kiss him.

…

"_I could almost love you."_

…

Not almost. Not anymore.

But then again, he was talking to a different Gakuto now. This wasn't Gakuto the lawyer, Gakuto the calm and collected, Gakuto the polite society type.

This was Gakuto, Gakuto the dancer, the brash and reckless and wild.

The actual Gakuto, he realized, with a happy sort of shimmer.

Yuushi recognized this feeling from middle school and high school. It was that familiar fluttering, that pounding of the heart, the delirious happiness, drunken with joy.

It was that, except ten times more powerful.

And the kiss only intensified it, intensified to twenty, thirty, a hundred, a thousand times stronger.

_So this is love, _Yuushi thought. It'd been eight years, three years apart—eight years' wait.

Gakuto seemed about to pull away, and Yuushi wrapped an arm around him, pulled him back, closer and closer.

It was so much more than just worth it.

…

Gakuto thought he could fly.

He really could—everything had vanished. He didn't know how to describe it—but if this was what a kiss from Yuushi felt like, he never wanted to stop. He knew it was going to rain—the sky was grey and the clouds were dark and sooner or later (but probably sooner) they were both going to end up soaked and they'd probably catch a cold and end up sick for a week and he was rambling but he really didn't care.

He could fly, and he'd touch every star in the sky—it took a miracle, but it was exactly what he'd been dreaming of.

And now he finally had it.

Yuushi was the one to pull away, and when he did, Gakuto let out a breathy laugh.

"I love you," Yuushi told him. It might have been the hundredth time that day, but Gakuto couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed about it. He decided he could live on those words, for the rest of his life. He leaned in a little, marveling at how perfectly he fit into Yuushi's arms.

"That's all I ever wanted," Gakuto breathed.

**

* * *

**

Gakuto was on his way back to the hotel, and Yuushi had offered to walk him there. It was going to rain soon, and neither of them wanted to get soaked. The sky had darkened significantly, and Gakuto glanced warily at it.

"I'm kind of glad it didn't rain," he said, "while . . . y'know." He'd taken off his tie and stuffed it into his pocket, and had undone the first two buttons of his dress shirt.

Yuushi looked at him curiously. "Why?"

Gakuto shrugged. "It would've been pretty cliché," he pointed out. "Straight out of one of those cheesy romance novels. Don't you think?"

"I wish it did rain," Yuushi mused. "It would've been very romantic, I believe. Chasing after you, a kiss in the rain . . ."

Gakuto snorted, but turned away to hide his blush. "Stupid Yuushi."

They walked in a comfortable silence, and then Yuushi's cell phone rang. He shot Gakuto an apologetic look and answered. "Hello?"

_"Oshitari-san?_"

"Hiyoshi? What's wrong?"

"_Inui was killed only a few minutes ago. Someone heard the shot. I just got here—you have to come, right now. It was near the Sumida river—I can't believe no one saw anything."_

"Inui's _dead_?" Yuushi repeated in disbelief. He'd been hoping to ask him a few questions—so much for that idea. And to think, another person dead . . . this made five, didn't it?

Gakuto looked startled by the comment. "Inui's dead?" he asked, worried. "What happened?"

"I'll be right there," Yuushi said, somewhat regretfully, and hung up the phone. He turned to Gakuto, who held up a hand before he could say anything.

"Get the hell out of here," Gakuto told him, giving him a gently push toward the direction of the office. "You're wasting time."

"Can you make it back to your hotel safely?" Yuushi demanded. The murderer could come after anybody next—he was on a roll, with his five victims. And if he was still in the area . . .

"I'll be fine," he assured. "Just _go._"

"Lock the doors," Yuushi warned. "And don't let anybody in. Even if it's somebody you know. It doesn't matter who—I don't care if it's Atobe himself. Don't let anybody in."

"I got it, I got it."

Yuushi cast one glance back at him, and ran.

**

* * *

**

"Oshitari."

The words were hissed, and by the time Yuushi realized who it was, Fuji had already stormed up to him and given him a shove that almost sent him stumbling into the river. _I'm getting a lot of abuse today, aren't I? _he thought wryly. "Fuji," he greeted, maintaining his balance and glancing at Hiyoshi, who was talking urgently with one of the police officers. "Where's Inui?"

"Are you blind?" Fuji asked, his voice deceptively casual. "He's lying right next to you." Yuushi gave a surprised start. "Nobody moved him, for fear of messing with our genius detective's notes." His words were dripping with acid, and Yuushi didn't doubt that he was furious.

Inui was splayed on the floor in a rather awkward position. There were red marks on his wrists, which suggested a struggle. The classic bullet through the occipital lobe was present, and Yuushi wondered if it was another case of Russian roulette.

"Inui," he murmured. It was such a loss.

"If I may ask," Fuji began, his voice steady.

"Yes?"

"Why was someone from Seigaku killed?"

His blue eyes slid open, a piercing turquoise blue. "Why Seigaku? What did Inui ever do?" he demanded.

Hiyoshi walked up to him. "We don't know why the murderer does anything," he warned.

"Hiyoshi," he acknowledged flatly. "Of course we don't. Because Oshitari can't seem to uncover this on his own, can he?"

Yuushi had to remind himself that Fuji had just lost a friend, and had to keep himself from being annoyed. "Do you know what happened?"

"I was walking in the area," Fuji replied. "I was supposed to meet with Tezuka and Eiji in half an hour. But who knows if that'll happen?" He chuckled darkly. "For all I know, they're dead, too! Or they will be. Inui called out to me, and by the time I got there, the shot had already been fired. He was alone." He took a deep breath and put a hand to his chest. "Wasn't I supposed to be next? Aren't I the one meddling around?" he demanded. "Why Inui?"

"I don't know any more than you do," Yuushi replied sharply. "Stop this, Fuji. It's not helping anybody."

"You certainly need all the help you can get, don't you?"

"You're the one tossing red herrings everywhere."

Hiyoshi listened to the exchange for a few moments, then muttered something about an autopsy and walked away.

"As a matter of fact," Fuji snapped, "I know much, _much _more than you do."

"Yes, for someone who knows who the murderer is, you're awfully surprised, aren't you?"

"There's no point in telling you who the murderer is," he replied darkly. "You wouldn't arrest him, unless you figured it out for yourself."

"It's not Gakuto," Yuushi retorted.

"You don't _know _who the murderer is," Fuji taunted. His smile was frightening. "You don't know anything! So you'd better hurry up, Oshitari, because you're either going to be arresting someone you grew up with, or carrying his corpse to the morgue."

Unfortunately, he had a point.

Yuushi returned to the office after all notes had been taken, and Inui's body was safely carried away. Eiji and Tezuka had come to Fuji, stunned. Eiji, however, was especially horrified, and Yuushi wondered why.

The office was silent. It was finally raining, and Yuushi noted absentmindedly that it felt like a scene from a detective movie, with the grey skies and dark office. Notes were scattered haphazardly across his desk, and he looked through them absentmindedly.

Inui was fairly tall, and very fit. He had a good athletic build, and was more than capable of putting up a fight. The fact that he was killed indicated that the murderer had a good fighting ability, or was at least fit enough to take on someone like Inui.

What was Inui doing by the river, anyway?

Fuji had been on his way to meet with Tezuka and Eiji. Inui had happened to be in the same area. He'd met with the murderer, who'd begun to engage him in a struggle. He called out to Fuji, who he probably noticed was nearby, and by then, the murderer had shot him. It didn't seem like Russian roulette—Shishido's murder had been done while he was asleep, but Choutaro and Niou hadn't put up a struggle at all. Marui had died by poisoning, so that didn't apply, but—

Why was the murderer so desperate to kill Inui? What did Inui know that was so threatening?

Fuji knew who the murderer was, but no attempts had been made on his life. If Inui did know the murderer's identity, what made him so much more threatening than Fuji? What more did Inui know? If anything, Fuji was more likely to be targeted, with his sadistic nature.

There was still something missing. Motives, reasons, methods—

What else was there?


	14. Mentality

I . . . _might _be taking a hiatus.

I definitely intend to finish this story (because as my friend told me, leaving a murder mystery unfinished is just not cool), but as for my other stories, I'm not really sure. Or, I'll just push a rushed ending in there, but that might be even worse than leaving it unfinished.

It's not so much that I'm getting busier (which is also true). It's just, many of my friends from FFnet have left already, or aren't updating as often. Some of the most amazing writers on the fandom are either drifting away from the fandom or have stopped writing for it altogether. There are still some really amazing writers out there, but in two years, the Prince of Tennis archives have had a four hundred page increase, and some of those stories are just—not readable. Please don't think I'm insulting any of the writers on this fandom—I respect you all, and everybody has the right to post their creative works here, really. But while I have a respect for all writers and the hard work they do, this fandom just isn't what it used to be. I don't know if it'll ever return to what it was, but as of now . . .

And note that it's just a hiatus. It's not a definite permanent leave, and I'll probably still drift back with one-shots, and things like that. **Hell, I'm not even sure if I'm going to take a hiatus. So don't make too much out of this, 'kay?** I'm still thinking about it, so we'll see.

(Ooh, two of my Disney references have been caught, haha. Three left to go! Although, I kind of doubt that any of you will even remember to look for the reference, considering the fact that the murderer is revealed in this chapter. **By the way, this isn't the full denouement. **The rest of the denouement will be in the next chapter, so no worries there. I'm going to have a _lot _to explain in the next chapter . . . oh, my. Ooh, if you guys have any questions, feel free to ask! I'll answer them to the best of my ability.)

* * *

There was a public concert, and Yuushi had been looking forward to it for weeks. Gakuto, once he heard about it, insisted on coming along.

Not that Yuushi wouldn't have invited him anyway, but it was nice to have the stubborn brat back.

Yuushi flipped open his cell phone with practiced ease. The concert was to start in half an hour, and he'd have to hurry if he wanted to make it in time. It rather embarrassed him that he'd spent about an hour just trying to decide on an outfit, but he concluded that making such an effort was worth it—for Gakuto.

A simple dress shirt and slacks. He wasn't sure if the concert would be formal, but considering it was a public concert, he doubted it. The advertisement said to bring lawn chairs or towels to sit on, and that honestly didn't seem like a suit-and-tie occasion to Yuushi.

The snow outside had completely melted, and if Yuushi looked hard, he could see the beginnings of plant sprouts on the streets. It pleased him to know that spring was so fast to approach.

If only he could solve the case as quickly.

He shook his head and reached for a jacket. This wasn't the time to think about the case.

. . . well, maybe it _was, _but he didn't particularly want to think about it.

He was going to spend a night out with Gakuto, after all. The last thing he wanted to think about was murder.

_Ironic, _he thought, _when only last week, just thinking of Gakuto brought the case to mind._

It was getting dark—still far from summer, he supposed. Most people were known for feeling gloomy during winter. Suicide rates rose, or something akin to that. But Yuushi could barely contain a feeling of elation as he walked out the door.

The walk to the site of the concert was short. It was in a park not far from Yuushi's home, but he wasn't sure where Gakuto was staying. It was like him to be late, Yuushi knew, and he prepared himself for a long wait.

He really didn't expect to see Gakuto already there, arms folded, waiting for _him._

Decked out in a slim fitting hoodie and jeans.

His eyes lit up as he caught sight of Yuushi, and gave a casual wave. "You're early."

Yuushi laughed. "So are you."

"I thought I'd be late," he admitted, "so I came early. I didn't think I'd be this early, though. It was getting chilly."

Yuushi pulled off his jacket and offered it to him. "I'm wearing layers," he said, when Gakuto began to protest. "It's fine."

The redhead took it blushingly, and put it on without saying much of anything. "It's nice," he muttered.

It was his classic, ineloquent way of saying "thank you." Yuushi smiled knowingly and said, "You're welcome."

**

* * *

**

It was only an hour into the concert, and Gakuto looked annoyed.

Gakuto told off the seventh girl that began flirting with Yuushi, irritated. She stared at him for a moment, his dark eyes and sharp features, then Yuushi's arm around his waist, and backed away. "It's a concert, not a dating session!" he called after her. Yuushi chuckled.

"Jealous?" he teased.

Gakuto gave him an indignant look. "Am not," he protested. "They . . . just a little."

Yuushi laughed and pulled him closer. "You have several admirers too," he said pointedly, and glanced at the group of girls openly ogling the redhead.

Gakuto grinned. "Jealous?"

"Just a little," he drawled.

They sat in a companionable silence, listening to the concert intently. Then the couple sitting in front of them began giggling and kicking their feet up in the air. The people in front of _them _began playfighting, and Gakuto rolled his eyes. "People who didn't come here to appreciate music shouldn't have come at all," Yuushi commented, once the piece ended.

"I wish something would—shut them up," Gakuto fumed. "It's so annoying. The concert isn't a fucking buffet, or a gossip session, or a photography session. It's a concert." He gave the couple in front of him a dirty look, but said couple was too busy flirting to pay him any mind. "They have no idea how annoying they are, do they?"

"Probably not," Yuushi acknowledged.

"There's got to be something to make them stop," he muttered sotto voce.

A slow smirk spread across Yuushi's face, and he drawled, "There is."

The redhead snorted. "Like hell," he said disdainfully. "I swear, I'm never coming to a public concert again. It's full of lunatics."

His voice was soft enough for all the insults to escape undetected, and he continued mumbling under his breath, coming close to insulting everybody within a five meter radius of him. Yuushi chuckled a little, then tilted Gakuto's chin toward him.

"Yuushi?" he asked, curious. There was a barely noticeable blush spreading across his face. "What are you doing?"

"Having some fun," Yuushi murmured. "You should try it."

"Oh, I should try it? Who's the one holed up in his office all day, doing paperwork?" Gakuto retorted.

The next piece began. "Shh." Yuushi leaned a little farther in, and brushed his lips against Gakuto's.

Both of them were very aware of the sudden stares that followed. The chatter slowed and quieted for a moment, then rose again, while Gakuto stared questioningly. "I never thought you'd be the type for PDA," he commented quietly. "You're a lot more subtle than that."

"Only when it's you," Yuushi replied. His fond smile twisted into a smirk. "And it's convenient, is it not?"

Gakuto burst into a grin. The mischief in it was wonderfully familiar. "Very," he agreed, and grabbed his tie, pulling him in for another kiss.

This one was much less quiet, and much less chaste. One gasp, and a light kiss turned fiercely French. The music in the background was loud and fervent. Yuushi gently pushed him down onto the grass, and Gakuto reached up for him.

The sudden silence that ensued was very, very welcomed.

People were suddenly too embarrassed to look at one another, and focused on the concert. All crinkling and whispering vanished-people sat rigidly, staring at the orchestra, the conductor, everywhere except them. Gakuto and Yuushi exchanged a sly, satisfied smile, and listened intently to the music that followed.

Yuushi had missed the mischief—it was really much more enjoyable with Gakuto, he realized. Everything was.

But that really wasn't a surprising revelation at all.

He reached for Gakuto's hand, which softened into his touch. The redhead leaned against him, a silent, contented sigh slipping from his lips.

...

"'m sleepy," Gakuto mumbled.

It was eleven PM, almost twelve AM, and it'd been a while since Yuushi had last stayed up so late. He was tired, even though he hadn't really done anything except listen to music for the majority of the day. He couldn't really speak for Gakuto, but assumed he felt the same.

He wasn't looking forward to returning home, to be honest. It was empty, too big for one person. He considered asking Gakuto to move in with him, and wondered if it'd be too fast. But back in middle school, Gakuto had slept over more often than not, making Yuushi sleep on the floor or the couch, slipping into his room and having dinner with his  
parents so often that he was almost one of the family. Would they ever go back to that?

There were hundreds of other people also walking home, most of them in groups. "Where's the hotel you're staying at?" Yuushi inquired.

Gakuto snorted. "Far from here," he said in annoyance. "I took the train here." He shrugged, but the shrug was small and halfhearted, like he'd lost the energy to move. "I won't be staying there long, anyway, so I guess it doesn't really matter."

"You're going back to France?" Yuushi asked, surprised. He hadn't really thought about it, and for a while, he'd forgotten that Gakuto was studying—and living—abroad. It made sense; Gakuto had lived there for the past few years, and he hardly knew Japan well anymore.

Gakuto looked guilty. "I don't know," he admitted. He leaned a little closer. "I kind of assumed I was. I mean, I have friends there, y'know? And I've been studying there for a while now..." He hesitated. "But I don't want to leave this," he continued softly. "I don't know."

"If you do go back to France, I'd go with you," Yuushi said, "as long as you'd want me to. And if you stay in Japan—I'd stay with you, too." It was dark, and he let his lips brush against Gakuto's hair. "Whatever you want."

Gakuto looked away, and Yuushi knew that, had it been daytime, he would have seen Gakuto's blush.

They walked in silence for a few moments. Then Gakuto turned to Yuushi, blue eyes wide and bright even in the night, and asked, "Can I stay over, tonight? I don't want to go back to that hotel."

Just like before.

Same arrangements, too?

"Of course," he replied. "I'll sleep on the couch—"

"You don't have to," Gakuto interrupted. "Is your bed big enough?"

Yuushi looked at him in the darkness, considered this, and smiled a slow smile. "Yes, alright."

…

Gakuto was curled up against his side when Yuushi woke up, and he had to smile.

A tiny ball—he looked so petite, so small. _He _is _small, _Yuushi thought, amused, and got up quietly, deciding to let Gakuto sleep a while longer. It wasn't the redhead's fault that Yuushi had a tendency to wake up at unholy hours in the morning.

He'd have to get back to work on the case, too. Yuushi reached for the premade cup of coffee. It was cold from sitting there so long, but Yuushi took a long sip of it, anyway. It amazed him how he was so calm this morning—he noted that it might have been the first morning in a month in which he didn't wake up frazzled.

_Yesterday night, _he thought, and set the mug down.

He'd never really considered that Gakuto could move back to France, but now that he thought about it . . . It was reasonable. And yet Yuushi wasn't sure if he could leave Tokyo—or Japan. He'd spent twenty-one years of his life here, and moving to another continent seemed overwhelming.

He wondered how Gakuto had felt about it, suddenly moving to Europe. Being in a completely foreign society, having to start over—he wondered how Gakuto had managed it. Still in his teenage years, no less.

Gakuto was really something.

He fetched the newspaper from the doorstep, and unrolled it. It was rare that he had the opportunity to enjoy leisure time like this, and he wanted to take advantage of it. He was only on the second page, though, when he heard a loud thump.

A yawn. "G'morning, Yuushi," a low voice mumbled. "Why d'you wake up so early?"

Well, speak of the devil.

"I only woke up about fifteen minutes ago," Yuushi murmured. "You're an early riser, yourself."

Gakuto snorted. "I rolled over and almost fell off the bed. Trust me, I don't usually wake up this early."

"You poor, unfortunate soul," Yuushi teased, and offered him some coffee.

He shook his head and made his way to Yuushi's refrigerator. "Do you have apple juice or something?"

"Help yourself."

His head still stuck in the fridge, Gakuto called, "So how's the case going?"

"It's at a stasis," Yuushi replied regretfully. "Nothing's happening."

"That's probably a good thing," the redhead commented. "You don't want someone else to die, do you?"

"That's one way of putting it."

The refrigerator door slammed shut, and Gakuto strolled over to the living room sofa with a glass of apple juice in his hand. "So, you're at a dead end or something?" He took a sip and looked thoughtfully at Yuushi, who sat down next to him.

"I've thought of everything," he said, and had it been anyone else, it would've sounded like he was whining. "Motives, methods, and reasons. There's nothing else to consider."

Gakuto tilted his head to one side. "I'm no mystery expert, but . . ."

"You've read your fair share of Agatha Christie novels." Yuushi chuckled. "What?"

Gakuto shrugged. "I dunno." He grabbed the remote control, leaned back, and turned on the television. "But shouldn't you be thinking about opportunity, too?"

Opportunity.

It was the one thing he'd skipped through.

And while it didn't exactly narrow down the search to one person, it reminded him that there was something else to consider.

His mind mentally flipped through all the notes he'd taken for the past few months, and he sat there in silence for a few moments, while Gakuto entertained himself with mindless reality shows.

"That's it."

Gakuto turned to look at him. "Wow, you look like you just saw a kitten get hit by a car. What's it?"

Yuushi staggered up, and Gakuto reached to steady him. "I need to go to the office right away," he said distractedly.

"Is it about the case?" Gakuto seemed startled when Yuushi nodded. "It's only been, like, half an hour. How did you solve the whole bloody case in half an hour?"

"Opportunity," Yuushi said, sounding dazed. "I can't believe I forgot it—opportunity. Thank you, Gakuto—I'll be back before eight PM."

"_PM? _Where are you going?"

"It's probably best if you don't call me," Yuushi continued. "Chances are I'll be busy the entire day."

Gakuto nodded briefly as Yuushi got dressed and prepared to leave. "Hey, Yuushi."

"Yes?"

He hesitated, then said, "I'll be praying for you both."

Yuushi's tense expression softened into a ghost of a smile. "Thank you."

**

* * *

**

He dialed Hiyoshi's number as quickly as he could, and to his relief, Hiyoshi picked up almost immediately. "What's up?"

"I know who the murderer is."

Hiyoshi asked, surprised, "Have you called the police already? I haven't gotten any calls from my superiors, though. Can I help?"

"This may be a special circumstance," Yuushi murmured. "Yes, I do need your help. But we'll need to plan this out."

"Where do you want to meet up?"

"Sumida River," Yuushi said. "There won't be many people there on a weekday morning."

"I got it," Hiyoshi replied knowingly. "Good call, Oshitari-san. I'll be there as soon as possible."

**

* * *

**

Hiyoshi was already there when Yuushi arrived, and he spared a welcoming smile to his friend and colleague before settling on the grass next to him. "You probably should've called the police, first," Hiyoshi pointed out.

"You _are _the police."

Hiyoshi shrugged. "I don't think I'd be able to catch a murderer, though."

"True enough," Yuushi acknowledged.

"So what'd you find out?"

"I'd been thinking of motives this entire time, and that was what distracted me. Motives brought the relationships between victims and survivors to a new light entirely, and they did assist me in the case—but it wasn't what helped me solve it." Yuushi shifted on the grass, and held his bag in his arms. "To be honest, I solved the case in about fifteen minutes, this morning."

Hiyoshi arched an eyebrow. "Two months of detective work, and you solve the case in fifteen minutes, before eight AM?"

Yuushi chuckled. "Ironic, isn't it?"

Hiyoshi grinned. "As expected of a genius."

"Good to know my reputation remains untarnished," Yuushi joked. Hiyoshi, he realized, was one of the few people who shared his sense of humor. And it relieved him to know that even at such a time, they'd be able to talk the way they had, as children.

He really was invaluable.

Yuushi was overwhelmed by a sudden wave of appreciation for his friend. "I couldn't have solved this case without you," he continued. "You've done so much to assist me. The people, the motives, even the paperwork—I don't know what I would've done without you. And with Gakuto." He let out a sharp laugh. "I owe you one for that, too."

"It was the least I could do," Hiyoshi replied sincerely. "I'm really glad you two are together, now."

"He helped me to solve this case, you know," Yuushi commented offhandedly. "He's always been very perceptive."

"Yeah, I know." Hiyoshi frowned. "I'm cool with reminiscing and accepting gratitude and all, but don't you have a murderer to catch?"

"All business as usual," Yuushi commented. A breeze brushed by, and he continued, "It really is nice weather today. Good enough for a proper denouement." He paused for a moment. "It was complicated. There were six deaths to consider, after all, and nearly thirty suspects. At the same time, it seemed impossible that any of us could have been the murderer—these were all people we knew from school, after all. We'd been friends and rivals with all of them. So that was hard to deal with.

"I won't go into the full denouement just yet. I'll touch on the psychology—and after I've revealed the murderer, I'll go more in depth. Because, you see, most of the case had to do with our backgrounds and stories; our relationships in the past were what affected this future, and to be honest, the explanation won't make much sense if you don't know who the murderer is, anyway.

"It took a lot of research—I had to ask various people for information, and I had to make some wild guesses of my own. It was all about the relationships, in the end—I couldn't have solved the case without knowing about Shishido's and Ohtori's relationship, the inheritance issue, Marui's romance with Niou's sister, the death of Niou's brother and the loss of Yagyuu's sister—and, of course, the relationship between Niou and the murderer. And that's only to name a few. Fuji, Inui, Kikumaru—in the end, everything interwove.

"I admit I'd been preoccupied with Gakuto for most of the case; I'd suspected him more than anyone else, especially when Fuji started pushing me in that direction. The entire case was complicated—and broad—there was too much to consider. So I started from the beginning, and focused on psychology. With psychology in mind, one person stood out.

"Niou had an interesting mind frame. He'd lost his younger brother, just as Yagyuu had lost his younger sibling. I'd overheard Yukimura's conversation with Marui's lover—Yagyuu's younger sister had left to study abroad, and he'd been devastated. Yagyuu, while he didn't show it, needed somebody to take care of. Kirihara was grown, and he really didn't have to bother—but he needed someone to help. It might've come from the constant years of helping his sister, watching over Kirihara, and guarding Niou—but it became a habit. So he became an entertainment manager. Niou happened to be in the acting business, too—they worked out an agreement. And Niou was the dangerous sort. He played games, and he made enemies on purpose. He needed someone to protect him—because part of what made the game so entertaining was the fact that he refused to protect himself.

"So he consciously let Yagyuu take care of him; his business, his relationships, his well-being. It was his idea of kindness—and it _was _kindness. It was mutually beneficial, and I suppose Yagyuu realized what Niou was doing at one point or another. Remember when he was looking at Niou's corpse? Remember what he said?"

…

_"You idiot. Too reckless, that's what you are; you thought you knew it all, didn't you? Do you think I didn't know what you were doing? Thank you."_

…

"But in that aspect, Niou also needed someone—someone _stable_—to be with him. Yagyuu was the one unchanging friend he had; or at least, the only friend close enough to him. He was friends with the other ex-regulars—but not quite on the same level. Maybe it was because both he and Yagyuu had suffered the loss of a loved one that he found it easier to connect with him.

"And yet, he kept up his games. He enjoyed getting close to people, and then breaking off their relationship. It amused him—especially when he could see who was emotionally fragile and who wasn't. He was always perceptive like that—and he was always a trickster. It was easy to fool those who were susceptible, and easier to fool those who needed that sort of affection. He acted the part well—lover, best friend, brother. It was easy for him to gain a person's affection; he was charismatic, and a good enough actor to make his words seem sincere. And that was what made it all the more devastating to the victim, when he left them.

"So you see, it all comes back to Niou. It began with him, and it ends with him. I was thinking too much about the other deaths to pay attention to any one murder. It made sense, though, when I looked at it in a new light—suppose all the other murders were to cover up the first murder? Suppose someone had seen the first murder being committed, and suppose that person was killed. And, of course, murder is a habit. The thrill of it—the idea that one will never be able to get caught—is addicting. So one murder became two, two became three—and now we have six murders, six deaths."

Hiyoshi frowned. "You're right, but what makes you think there's only one murderer?"

Yuushi shook his head. "There are two. And that was another red herring—unintentional, but it worked to the murderer's advantage. One of the murders was different from the others—and completely unrelated. Marui's death was the only one not by force. It doesn't seem to make much of a difference—but it's the psychology behind it that sets it apart. Marui's death was done _entirely _in public. There were dozens of people present, sitting right there—and yet nobody had seen it happen. It took a special sort of bravado to do that. And yet, the murderer hadn't used a gun, or force. The murderer had chosen to use poison.

"This murder didn't fit with any of the previous murders. The psychology was different—it had to be a different person. Besides, neither Marui nor Inui were on my list of suspects. And yet Marui was killed. There was really no reason for Marui to die—he hadn't seen anything. But he'd been in love with Niou's sister, and the loss of his best friend had torn him up badly. A desire for vengeance makes people do incredible things.

"He was desperate to pin the blame on someone, and suppose he'd heard Inui and Kikumaru talking? I heard them talking, once, and had I even missed one word, I might have assumed that either of them was the killer. Suppose the same thing happened to Marui? He finally had his culprit—or so he thought. So he invited Inui out to lunch, and poisoned his drink when Inui left, to use the restrooms."

Hiyoshi shook his head. "But _Marui _was the one who was killed."

Yuushi murmured, "Yes, exactly. You see, death by poison fit both Marui's and Inui's psychologies. Marui has the intelligence and cleverness to exert as little energy as possible to achieve spectacular results—he's playful, but not the violent type. Inui, meanwhile, finds poison an obvious choice; he's fit, but with his intelligence, he could easily find a way to use poison to his advantage. Inui is no fool—and at the time, Marui was too driven by anger to pay attention to any reckless mistakes. Inui noticed what Marui was trying to do, and noticed the change in behavior. In less than an instant, suppose when Marui wasn't looking—and there were many opportunities. Any moment, when nobody was paying attention, when Marui was talking to the waiter, Inui could have switched the drinks. They'd both ordered lemon iced tea, after all; he could've gotten away with switching the drinks. And he did. So Marui was killed by his own poison."

"Then, Inui was one of the murderers?"

"Yes, and it gave him a revelation," Yuushi continued. "He realized the psychology behind the different murders. Up until now, he'd suspected Fuji, because of Fuji's involvement with Niou and his supposed mental instability. But now he realized that Russian roulette—using physical force—didn't fit Fuji's psychology. Inui ruled out Fuji as a suspect, and realized who the murderer was in doing so. He tried to tell me, and that was his undoing.

"You see, that was another issue that was pressing me. Why did Inui die? Why not Fuji? Fuji had clearly known who the murderer was from the beginning, and yet he hadn't played any part in the murders. Inui, meanwhile, knew less than Fuji—in fact, he probably only knew the murderer's identity. So why was he killed, when he knew less—and why was Fuji spared? Did Inui know something more dire?

"It's ironic," Yuushi mused. "In the end, it was because Inui _didn't _know something—he didn't know he couldn't tell me. Fuji had pushed me to solve the case, but he'd never made any attempts to actually tell me who the murderer was. Fuji, after all, had majored in psychology. He knew psychology, he knew people—and Inui knew numbers.

"I took a gamble with that. Fuji had been acting odd, after all—but I assumed it was because he'd changed. We'd all changed. It wasn't in Fuji's nature to be so vindictive, nor to be so cruel, or taunting. He had a slightly sadistic nature, but he was kind, and most knew him to be gentle. Why was Fuji acting that way, then?

"So I worked backwards, and assumed otherwise. I assumed Fuji _hadn't _changed—that he'd retained his ideals and persona. But then, why would Fuji taunt and provoke me, if it wasn't in his personality. Because he wanted me to realize that somebody _could _change—or that I never knew who they were to begin with. You tried to help me realize that too, didn't you, Hiyoshi? That afternoon I'd had gone to the café with Gakuto, and that evening I'd returned to the office, discouraged—you'd told me that sometimes, we never know who people are to begin with. I should've paid more attention—because that was what solved the case.

"And then Gakuto reminded me to take note of opportunity, instead of focusing on motives and methods. Motives and methods _had _gotten me far—but he was right. I needed to consider opportunity more. Who had the opportunity to commit those murders? That narrowed the options down a little. Then, who had the physical capability? Inui, after all, was fairly tall and physically fit. Niou, too, and while Choutarou and Shishido hadn't put up a fight, it would've been difficult for someone weak to handle a gun so well. And who had the mental capability? Who had the motive, or the reason to do so?

"Eventually, I ended up eliminating all my suspects," Yuushi continued wryly. "Nobody fit the criteria. I was stumped—for two minutes or so. Was there more than one murderer, then? Two? Three? Was a group of murders conspiring against us? It was really something much simpler than that. I tried getting rid of the distractions. I ignored the Russian roulette, locations, small details. The big picture was very, very simple.

"Then I realized there was someone I hadn't considered."

…

_"This is murder. There's never a guaranteed happy ending."_

…

_"It's a good way to see people's reactions." _

…

_"I wasn't that close to him."_

…

_"The murderer was someone we knew. Assuming it'd been a friend of Ohtori's—then yes, he might've done it willingly."_

…

_"He never did anything. If he'd just—been too busy for the party, or something. And he could've missed the reunion. Then he'd still—I don't know."_

…

_"It's not fair that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time."_

…

_"But sometimes, it turns out you never knew who they were to begin with."_

…

_"I'm the one nobody remembers."_

…

_"You can't let this go on anymore."_

…

Yuushi looked at Hiyoshi intently, and murmured, "The murderer—the murderer is you, Hiyoshi, isn't it?"


	15. Stop

Huh. This chapter ended up being a lot shorter than I'd initially expected . . .

Anyway, two multichapters coming up. :) **The Talent Tournament, **a comedy, and **Reigning Liars, **a Liar Game-universe drama/romance/mystery/etc, which may or may not be posted under a separate account. I'm not sure yet, but I'll announce it on my profile eventually. The former is dedicated to **Phantom DLizz**, who successfully guessed the murderer's identity (and told me about it beforehand)! And the latter is dedicated to **mesmerizedbyceruleaneyes**, for being awesome in general. I'm not sure when they'll be posted, but that, too, will be announced on my profile, so check it for updates.

Onto the finale! (And thank you all for following the story this far!)

**

* * *

**

Hiyoshi applauded, and Yuushi got up and took a mock-bow.

It surprised him how casual he managed to be, despite knowing that a serial killer sat two feet away from him. And yet, the more he thought about it, the less afraid he became—this was Hiyoshi, after all. He was his friend first, and a serial killer second.

"Going back to my suspects, I admit, Kikumaru and Inui _were _acting rather suspicious. Kikumaru in particular. During the interrogations, he'd almost lost his calm. But why? Unless he was the actual murderer (which I rather doubted), he shouldn't have had a reason to act so oddly. He could've been covering for someone, though. Oishi? Impossible; Oishi took no part in the situation at all.

"The only other person I could think of was Fuji. Inui and Kikumaru had both been stunned by the possibility of Fuji's insanity (which, by the way, was a complete lie on Fuji's part). But even before that, Kikumaru had suspected Fuji. He might have seen Fuji interacting with Niou, or seen Fuji and Niou together just before Niou's murder. So that was it. Fuji was the one that Kikumaru had been covering for.

"Fuji, however, was helping me with the case, even if it didn't seem like it. And besides, Fuji's psychology didn't correspond with the method of murder. Still, when I thought about everything he said—it seemed obvious."

…

_"There's no point in telling you who the murderer is," he replied darkly. "You wouldn't arrest him, unless you figured it out for yourself."_

…

_"Isn't it sinister, Oshitari, that the murderer could be anyone? Anyone at all? From his best friend, to my best friend . . . to __your __best friend."_

…

_Anybody could have been the murderer—including Gakuto. In fact, he's as likely to be the murderer as you are, seeing how Niou was such a fan of Hyotei."_

…

"He was pointing to somebody close to me, somebody I would confide in. As I'd eventually lost touch with everybody else, the only two people I could have been substantially attached to were you and Gakuto.

"Gakuto, meanwhile, had absolutely no motive. He'd never known Niou, and his odd behavior had already been explained. That left you." Yuushi looked thoughtful. "Ironic, isn't it, that this is the position we find ourselves in as adults? I admit, I'd always imagined I'd be playing professional tennis, or something along those lines."

"You're not scared? At all?" Hiyoshi asked curiously. "I mean, I could whip out a gun at any second and kill you."

Yuushi acknowledged his statement with a nod. "But you wouldn't," he pointed out. "Based on the motives and methods for your previous methods, there's no way you would've done it."

"Oh?"

"You killed Shishido out of pity, after all," Yuushi murmured. "And Choutaro's death had showed no signs of a struggle at all. Inui's death had been a last resort. Niou's was the only one you'd premeditated."

Hiyoshi nodded approvingly. "Pretty good, Oshitari-san. How much do you know, exactly?"

"There's not much to explain," Yuushi said. "It's quite simple, really. Your other murders were all to cover up the first murder. The Russian roulette was only meant as a distraction. A silly, but entertaining sentiment. The only person you'd intended to murder was Niou, and even then, while you _intended _to kill him, you'd doubted whether you'd actually go through with it, hadn't you?

"I had to make a few calls to Momoshiro and Fuji, but a few check-ups confirmed my theory. About everything—your motives, your reasoning.

"Niou liked mind games. And to him, you were a vulnerable target. So he played the game, assuming there would be no consequences.

"But there's no way you would've killed Niou just based on that," Yuushi noted. "You're wiser than that. Under normal conditions, you would've lived with it and moved on. But these aren't normal conditions. It might've been your years at Hyotei, or your years under Atobe, having an older brother who always managed to outshine you, having parents who preferred said older brother to yourself, or maybe just insecurities in general—but insecurities can build up, and cause an inferiority complex. It's unconscious, so you wouldn't have noticed it—you acted the way you thought you'd have normally done. But inferiority complexes force the victim to overcompensate. Overcompensation, in the end, doesn't do anything except put stress on the victim. And that caused cognitive dissonance. Basically, you were overcompensating, and sure that it would help you achieve results—and when you failed to meet your expectations, you tried to assure yourself that you were better off without whatever you were hoping to achieve. That's called adaptive preference formation, in psychology. They're all ego-defense mechanisms, but they can only take you so far.

"Eventually, the inferiority complex developed into schizotypal personality disorder. A victim of schizotypal PD usually ends up being socially isolated, with few intimate relationships. They find emotional relationships difficult, and as such, have distorted views about interpersonal relationships. They hold unconventional, peculiar beliefs—or at least, will find them normal. The disorder usually appears around early adulthood.

"Niou, of course, was naturally perceptive. He'd gotten a degree in psychology, I believe—or maybe somebody pointed you out to him. He liked preying on the emotionally vulnerable, and you were a perfect target. Easy to fool, in his opinion. You, like most people, were probably easily drawn to him, weren't you?"

…

_"Hiyoshi," Niou called. "Are you free?"_

_It was some surprise, to see the former trickster of RikkaiDai standing outside Hyotei's school gates. And why was he calling out to him? _

_"Niou-san," Hiyoshi acknowledged. "Yes, I have the remainder of the day free. Can I help you?"_

…

Hiyoshi murmured agreement. "He was kind to me," he said, and his voice had an odd note in it. "We met two years ago; he was waiting for me outside Hyotei High School; he just talked about random things, like school, how well I was doing with tennis, things like that. He was an easy person to talk to. After that, he started seeking me out."

"He probably acted the part of the caring older brother," Yuushi said knowingly. "It was an easy enough role for him to play, with his younger brother and all. To be honest, at least in his subconscious, he might have genuinely wanted to get to know you. Malicious as Niou acted, he wasn't entirely coldhearted. And you didn't find this encounter odd, because of the schizotypal PD, possibly.

"So he kept up the act for two years. And then, in your first year of college, and when he dropped out of school to become an actor, he broke off the relationship entirely. Stopped talking to you, stopped emailing, stopped calling, and cut off all communications. Am I right?

…

_"It's unfortunate; the Niou family has lost both sons. Don't you want to give a speech?" Yuushi murmured to Hiyoshi, who was standing stiffly the entire time, his miserable gaze never leaving Niou's coffin._

_Hiyoshi shook his head. "I wasn't that close to him," he whispered back, sounding deceptively casual._

…

"This, of course, came as a shock. You hadn't guessed that this would happen—and you were unsure of what to do. You were already studying criminology, after all. You read mystery novels and horror novels for fun—and with the schizotypal PD, your sense of logic is slightly warped. But I'm sure there was something that was telling you that what you intended to do was wrong—which caused cognitive dissonance.

"You were unsure, so you stayed in the low. You kept secret about your disorder and you kept secret about your relationship with Niou. As far as the public knew, Niou had never met you. But you were dissatisfied; after all, the moment Niou stopped speaking to you, he began to pursue an acting career—and was wildly successful. You weren't interested in the fame—the schizotypal PD discourages social interaction, to an extent—but he _did _leave you in the dust. That was what bothered you. Maybe it brought your anger and disappointment to new heights. But you hid it well.

"And then, we received an invitation to Atobe's reunion. It was the perfect opportunity—Niou would be without his bodyguards and without the paparazzi. The entire concept of the reunion would be enough to distract partygoers from any suspicious activity. Nobody would think it odd if you slipped off with someone—after all, everybody here was a former acquaintance of someone else. We were all former rivals; there was nothing odd about wanting to speak to someone else alone. Likewise, this would bring you the attention that you both wanted and feared. But this was perfect! You'd get the attention, and yet nobody would know that it was you. You wouldn't get any credit for it—your identity was unknown. It was like having attention and fame without the consequences."

…

_The party was in full swing._

_"Niou-san," Hiyoshi said quietly. "Could I speak to you for a moment?"_

_The slow smile on Niou's face was predatory. "No problem. It's been a while, hasn't it? Do you want to talk here, or somewhere more private?" He shook a mocking finger at Hiyoshi. "We have secrets to keep, after all."_

_The reference to their former friendship was infuriating. "There's bound to be an empty room here somewhere. Let's go."_

…

"Maybe you were still doubting yourself at the last minute. You were wondering whether or not to go through with it. But Niou goaded you. He liked to get a rise out of people, and he liked to see their reactions. He wanted to see how far you'd go. But you're not the type of person to do something in a fit of anger. You were livid, yes, but you knew better than to be reckless—you suggested a round of Russian roulette.

"What were the odds? In your opinion, you didn't have much to lose, but there was a cruel, hard satisfaction to be gained from this. That was worth taking the risk for. So you did it, and you won the game."

Hiyoshi interrupted, "It was easy. It was too easy. Have you read that one novel by Agatha Christie—_Murder in Mesopotamia?_"

"Gakuto probably has," Yuushi commented. "I haven't."

Hiyoshi shrugged. "No matter. But there's a theme in that novel—murder is a habit. It's addicting. Once you get away with it, there's the feeling that you can get away with it again, however many times you need to—and it's such an addicting feeling."

Yuushi nodded. "That's exactly it," he agreed. "And, of course, it boosted your confidence. That's why you didn't hesitate to kill again. I have to admit, I was rather baffled as to why you'd choose to kill Choutaro. He's incredibly nice, after all. He didn't have a single enemy—and you in particular were great friends with him. But then I thought about it a little. Choutaro's death—it hadn't shown any signs of a struggle. It seemed as though he'd died willingly. Because he did. He'd seen you going upstairs with Niou, hadn't he?"

…

_"Ah, Hiyoshi-kun!" Choutaro began to call. Then he noticed a young man with a silver rattail following him, and hesitated. Why were they walking together?_

…

"So Choutaro followed you. I'm not exactly sure why—maybe it was a whim. Do you know?"

"I'm not sure, myself," Hiyoshi admitted.

"But either way, he saw you kill Niou—or at least, he saw you standing in the room with Niou, dead or alive, a gun in his hands. He left before either of you could spot him, but I assume you figured it out, from his odd behavior."

"Actually," Hiyoshi interrupted, "he told me."

Yuushi raised an eyebrow. This, he hadn't guessed. Although, he hadn't exactly guessed that Hiyoshi would explain the situation to him, either. "Oh?" Did it make a difference to the case, or to its outcome?

"He invited me to his house," Hiyoshi explained. "Shishido wasn't home. And then he told me."

…

_Hiyoshi was temporarily speechless. "Why would you tell me that?" he demanded. "What do you expect me to do?"_

_Choutaro smiled, but it was a difficult smile. "I obviously can't tell Oshitari-san," he pointed out. "He wouldn't convict you. He's too nice to do something like that." _

…

"It wasn't that he was good at reading people, or good with psychology," Hiyoshi murmured, "but that he had faith in people. That's why . . ."

…

_Choutaro seemed miserable, but calmly acceptant. "You're right," he agreed. "There's always a chance I could give you away." He hesitated. "Niou was a good person, you know."_

_"I know."_

_"And there'll probably be more people, in the future. I read once, if you kill once, you'll kill again. Murder is a habit."_

_"Agatha Christie novel?" Hiyoshi guessed._

_"_Murder in Mesopotamia," _Choutaro admitted. They shared a laugh for a few moments, then fell into a silence. Choutaro sighed. "I'm so sorry it has to be this way," he said sincerely, and Hiyoshi never doubted a word._

_"Me too," he replied honestly._

_"Be careful, okay? Nothing good can come out of it, but I guess it's too late now, right?" Choutaro smiled at him. "And, please take care of Shishido-san. He's going to be awfully torn up about this." He reached for the gun. _

…

"Russian roulette. You've never lost once, have you? He was very willing to cover for you, because he was your best friend," Yuushi mused. "He's very loyal. And so gentle. He might have known about your mentality beforehand, having been so close to you. Maybe that's why he let you off."

…

_"That was the estimated time of Niou's murder," Yuushi pointed out. Choutaro visibly flinched. "Are you certain you didn't see anything, anybody?"_

_"Nothing," Choutaro said shakily. "Really, I didn't see anything. I'm sorry."_

…

"You didn't have to fake your reaction to his death; you _were _crying, and you _were _upset about it; naturally, after the death of one of your best friends, you'd be distressed. In any case, Shishido tried confessing to the murders," Yuushi added. "Before Choutaro's death, that is. It was in vain, of course, but it was a valiant attempt. He saw Choutaro going up the stairs to look for Niou, and he hadn't thought much of it. He tried following them for a while, but gave up on it. But then Niou's death was announced, and Shishido was convinced that Choutaro was the murderer."

…

_"Who was the person you were looking for? To follow him for a few minutes, you must have at least seen the back of his head."_

_"I didn't see his face," Shishido insisted. "And the stairs were pretty dark, so I didn't see much. But the back of his head . . ." He paused, and something changed in his voice when he said, "I think it was Niou. He was in a white suit, so it must have been Niou. And his hair had a silver tint."_

…

"Choutaro's hair also had a silver tint; that's why his pupils didn't dilate. He wasn't lying—he was just as fervently trying to convince himself of the truth. When Choutaro died, it ended up being all for naught. And he'd already blamed himself about the inheritance issue; because Choutaro's parents weren't pleased with the idea of their prestigious son associating with a commoner, they threatened to cut off Choutaro's inheritance. Choutaro gave it up without a second thought—he didn't want it, and he didn't need it. Still, Shishido felt guilty—everything Choutaro had given up, and in an instant, he was dead. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't work.

"Choutaro had wanted you to take care of Shishido," Yuushi continued. "That's why you killed him, isn't it? He would've ruined himself, living on as he did. He couldn't have escaped it, so you shortened it for him and ended it quickly. Your idea of compassion."

…

_He was sleeping so quietly, his breathing so faint. Hiyoshi could see dozens of letters, all complaints, asking why he hadn't gotten back to them, why he'd canceled all those offers, why he'd refused so many commissions. _

_"I'm sorry," he said._

…

"In any case, that was why you killed Choutaro (and later killed Shishido, out of pity). Choutaro's presence was a threat; if only accidentally, he could give you away. But—here's the odd part—at the same time you _did _want to be given away. Maybe it was your subconscious, or maybe it was just your conscience—but you did want to be discovered. Why else would you have assisted me? I noticed, once I solved the case this morning, that you hadn't done a single thing to deter me from the conclusion. Your assistance has helped me plenty. How am I doing so far?"

Hiyoshi smiled wryly. "Very, very well. Go on."

"But having studied both criminology and psychology, you know that there was no way I would've convicted you. If anything, I would've found some excuse to take the suspicion off you; I wouldn't have betrayed a friend and colleague simply because someone told me to. I wouldn't have believed it myself. So letting Choutaro tell me—or letting the information leak to me in any way at all—wouldn't work. At the same time, you couldn't bring yourself to tell me. So the best way, it seemed, was to help me along a little, and let me figure it out for myself.

"That was also why you let Fuji be—he had the same intentions and the same goal as you, after all. He was helping you, whether he meant to or not. Because Fuji also understood psychology—and he understood that there was no way I'd convict you if I didn't understand it fully. He didn't want me to make a rash decision. Inui, however, hadn't grasped that concept yet—he was going to tell me that you were the murderer, when you intercepted him.

"You were already in the area, after all. Finding him was purely chance—you hadn't realized that he intended to tell me that you were the murderer. When you met up with him, though, you noticed his hostility. Maybe he even confronted you about it."

…

_"It's over, Hiyoshi," Inui said warily. "I'm going to Oshitari."_

_He was rather perturbed when he got no reaction from the younger man._

…

"It was easy enough—you were by the river, after all. There weren't many people, and it was a secluded area. There was a brief struggle, but I'm sure you had gloves on—that's why we couldn't find any fingerprints. And then you shot him. It was easy to flee the scene; all you had to do was take another secluded route. You stayed hidden for a while, and waited for a call from your superiors. It _was _suspicious how you'd gotten to the scene of the crime so quickly—after all, you could have called your superiors and asked for help, but that would've only drawn you more attention.

"You hadn't imagined that Fuji would be there—and you were already aware that Fuji knew you were the murderer. Still, he didn't know why you'd chosen to kill Inui instead of him; his words were addressed to you, not me."

…

"Inui called out to me, and by the time I got there, the shot had already been fired. He was alone." He took a deep breath and put a hand to his chest. "Wasn't I supposed to be next? Aren't I the one meddling around?"

...

"In regards to Inui's murder, though—you couldn't really pull off a Russian roulette with someone unwilling, so you resorted to the only means you could. Still, a bullet to the head—you insisted on the symbolism. The Russian roulette, in the end, wasn't anything but a distraction, wasn't it? It seemed justified—using fate to determine the consequences of your actions. You won the Russian roulette, time after time. With Niou, with Choutaro—you'd probably spun the gun with Shishido, too."

Yuushi looked expectantly at Hiyoshi, who smiled knowingly and replied, "So, what should we do?"

"The right thing to do would be to turn you in," Yuushi acknowledged. "It'd be a difficult situation to go through—court, conviction—and the dishonor it'd bring your family. Making this public is the right thing to do, but it's also a terrible thing to do."

"Then what _are _you going to do?" Hiyoshi inquired. "It's up to you."

Yuushi supposed that bringing his family into the picture was a harsh reminder—honor, after all, meant a great deal. If anything, Hiyoshi had retained an extent of his morals. He sighed; there was no way out. "I could make up a cover for you," he said at last. "Leave it up to fate. You know what I mean."

"I leave it in your reliable hands," Hiyoshi said, only half-sarcastic. His façade was falling apart. He reached into his bag and pulled out a twelve-shot revolver. "You sure you want to do this? You're playing for keeps. No second chances."

_This is the first time I'm seeing this, _Yuushi thought, as he nodded. _It could be the last. What all his other victims saw, thought, and felt—I'm seeing it, too. _

The smile on Hiyoshi's face was frightening, bordering on maniacal, and yet Yuushi couldn't bring himself to hate the person who'd killed two of his best friends.

Five deaths. One of them would be the sixth.

The gun pointed to Yuushi, and he reached for it hesitantly, bringing the muzzle to the side of his head. He had to have faith—Hiyoshi had helped him along, had helped him this far. He had to win, if only to return the favor.

"Take a deep breath," Hiyoshi advised, and Yuushi would've been calmed, if Hiyoshi's tone hadn't been mildly sadistic, a touch amused. "Count to three . . . and _shoot._"

His confidence wavered. What would he do if he lost? Gakuto—he'd promised Gakuto that he'd return before eight.

He didn't want to die.

_One._

He couldn't afford to be a coward.

_Two._

He'd gotten this far.

_Three. _

So he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

A soft click sounded, and Yuushi breathed a sigh of relief.

He set the pistol down, and Hiyoshi reached for it next.

"Gakuto told me he'd be praying for us both," Yuushi said softly. "I'll be praying for you, too."

"One last game," Hiyoshi said, a wild grin on his face. "One more game of Russian roulette. It's a great way to go, Yuushi, I'll grant you that!" He sounded as if he were restraining laughter, and pointed the muzzle to his head, none too gently. "Four games of Russian roulette, and I've yet to lose a single one. Are you afraid, Oshitari?"

_Are you?_ Yuushi wanted to ask. "It wasn't your fault. You weren't sane—you'll be forgiven. And at Hyotei, at the police force, on the tennis team . . . we were all so proud of you."

"We're playing for keeps," Hiyoshi repeated. "No second chances. It's just as well."

"Your family won't be dishonored," Yuushi continued. "I'll find a way to pin the blame on someone else—someone anonymous, nonexistent. You'll die a hero."

"What makes you so sure you'll win?"

"I wish I'd gotten to know you sooner. You were an invaluable help."

"Oshitari Yuushi."

"I'm going to miss you," Yuushi whispered.

The gun swung back, and Hiyoshi's lips swung upward into a smile.

The bang seemed muted. Yuushi could feel his eyes widening, tearing, and he brought a hand to his lips. "Goodbye."

Scientifically speaking, there was no way Hiyoshi could've said anything—he would've died instantly. But Yuushi was certain, absolutely certain, that he'd heard a brief, quiet "thank you."

_**Epilogue:**_

It was easy enough to cover for Hiyoshi's death.

…

_"We got a confession from the murderer," Yuushi said flatly. "But Hiyoshi and the murderer—unnamed—shot simultaneously. The murderer was trying to escape, and when Hiyoshi shot, the murderer's body fell into the river, along with the gun."_

…

So Hiyoshi died a hero. His family was honored by the city, and likewise, they mourned for Hiyoshi's martyred death.

_If only they knew, _Yuushi mused. _They'd feel much, much more guilty. _

Yuushi tossed the gun as far into the Tokyo Bay as possible. It was the end, after all—erasing all the evidence. It was finally over.

He returned home around seven, annoyed with the reporters and the paperwork. There'd probably be more to deal with tomorrow, but for the moment, he didn't want to think about it. Gakuto had waited for him at home the entire day, and when Yuushi opened the door, he found the redhead sitting on the sofa, still watching the same show he'd been that morning, a bowl of popcorn by his side. Vibrant, alive.

With something akin to relief, Yuushi stumbled through the doorway, and into the house. Gakuto tilted his head to look up at Yuushi, who gave a wan smile. "I saw the news report," Gakuto said. "You covered for Hiyoshi pretty nicely. Are you sure they won't suspect anything?"

"How did you know?" Yuushi sat down next to him. "That he was the murderer, I mean."

Gakuto shrugged. "He told me, kind of."

". . . oh?"

"He told me to work it out with you," Gakuto replied. "He told me he wouldn't be able to help us anymore after this whole thing was over. He said this was going to be his last tribute." His voice cracked. "A final gift to his senpai-tachi. It wasn't too hard to figure it out, after that."

…

_Hiyoshi shook his head knowingly. "It's okay," he said. "It's a present. For my senpai-tachi."_

…

Hiyoshi had told Yuushi that, too, hadn't he?

Yuushi took a shaky breath and pulled Gakuto closer. "Gaku."

A last gift for his seniors.

"Mm?"

"I love you," he murmured.

Gakuto's expression softened. He, who hated fancy expressions, purple prose, and frequent displays of affection, said, "Love you, too." He pressed himself to Yuushi, who broke into a soft smile and pulled him as close as he could.

**

* * *

**

Let it be said that I was _this _close to making this whole thing a dream sequence, or writing an epilogue (and a sequel, maybe) in which Yuushi sees Niou alive and walking, and realizes that Hiyoshi died for nothing, or something like that. "Stationary Roulette," anyone? ;) But I'm not masochistic—I'm ending it here, haha.

Maybe.

It's over! Sigh; well, it was fun while it lasted. Kudos to anyone who figured out the entire plot, and do look forward to the two stories I mentioned in the first author's note—see you soon!


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